It's my birthday (and I'll cry if I want to)
Wrong lyrics, I know. I like to be tired on my birthday; there was a helicopter with flashing lights hovering over my bedroom window at 5am for about 45 minutes. I like to think it was Jonathan Ross and Paul Merton trying to find my house and drop in.
Then my sister phoned at 7am with my nephew and niece to sing happy birthday. Because to get the whole ensemble doing the song and dance routine, you have to get a call at 7am. Apparently. Well, my birthday'll last longer if I get up dead early.
What am I doing today? Having a lie-in (ha!), doing a few client things (including chasing someone who has had a proposal for three weeks, wants me to start on Monday - which I can't now, because I'm doing something else - but has been "too busy" to come back to me. He likes to haggle, and I'm kinda hoping we can get it over with today), meeting a friend for coffee to talk about their CV, going to the bank, seeing a client, if I get a chance, going to the Black British Style or the Christopher Dresser at the V&A, or the Michael Landy at the Tate, and at 6pm, meeting my friends to see HIGNFY get recorded. Some day, huh?
Don't bother calling me now, I've been up for ages.
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