Tuesday 25th August 2020

My 55th birthday.

15 years ago, I spent it, mostly drunk, in Las Vegas.

30 years ago, was spent with my friends from the chicken factory, in Lowestoft, wearing cheap sunglasses.

As you do.

I am older and more sensible now, of course.

And I am now in the middle of my mid-50s. Whatever that means.

And I was still ill. Not badly, but not 100%. And instead of eating at prescribed times, I said I would only eat when hungry.

I skipped fruit. But did have two coffees.

We were woken up by the smell of Cleo pooing under the bed. Man, that is some stink, and to think it came out of such a cute kitty cat.

Up an attem.

In the morning meeting, my boss wished me happy birthday. Which was nice.

The plan had been to go out for dinner, to a pub and have dinner in the beer garden. But the weather had other ideas.

The wind howled. The rain fell.

It was like November, and the wind was only going to get stronger through the day.

So, I would be cooking steak for dinner.

But it would be a long, long day.

And all I had to do was finish writing the audit reports and then write nonconformity reports.

They do pay me well for doing such things.

We have the remaining pork pie for lunch, play some music, and the day grows old, but the wind gets stronger, and we have to have the table lamp on all day.

Dinner was to be steak. Steaks. Brontosaurus steaks, of the opening title sequence of The Flintstone size steaks.

Yabba dabba doo.

I boil the potatoes.

Cook the fresh corn, fry the sliced potatoes and then griddle the steaks.

The meal barely fit the large square plates.

It was yummy. But I wasn't really that hungry, but I eat most of it.

IN the end, Jools sent me a card, and that was it. Comes with having no family I suppose. Still, I was expecting it, and anyway, I have everything I want.

We listen to the radio, then go to bed at eight to read before nodding off shortly after nine.

Phew, rock and roll.