Well, the grand old age of 23, eh?
Seems a long time since I was passed out in Nottingham parks surrounded by bottles of cheap wine, a long time since me and Greasy Steve lit up the streets of the City of Gun Crime, a long time since Simon Elliott lived in a climate of fear thanks to me and Dan.
Time passes though, and now I am older and wiser (like anyone believes that eh). Yesterday was my birthday, in case no-one noticed, and while I am not really a bday person (prefering to get very drunk in a corner), I do like attention lavished upon me. It was thus my lucky day- I got several presents from teachers, furry stickers and other joyous gifts from my friends, a surprise cake in a restaurant (que my one word speech of "sugoy!"), not to mention inappropriate whiteboard messages from some of my students.
The only black mark on an otherwise nice day was being beaten 3-2, in the last minute of time, by an own goal, by Philip Jones (aka "Pip"), the Welsh bloke. To elaborate, this was on the greatest video game ever invented, a combination of a regular football game with half a rubber football at your feet to whack whenever you want to pass the ball/shoot. I was 2-0 up, and collapsed in a way that only England can (the Ashes, anyone?).
Anyway, that aside, my birthday was lovely.
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The Entire Colony of Wales (TM) has called a national holiday in honour of the day when one of its own effed up the birthday of one of The Enemy (TM), don't you know? Apparently my return to the Homeland will be marked with a tickertape parade from the Millennium Stadium to Porthmadog.
And again, Happy day after your birthday. Glad I could be a part of the festivities. Some other time I'll have to join in the ball kicking fun.
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