... blong?

Today I begin my 18th orbit of the Sun. I am old.

This orbit sees me becoming road-legal, and soon, no doubt, terrorising innocents with the amazing speed, power and agility of the Vauxhall Astra.

I am also, due to some mightily screwed-up legislation, now allowed to kiss girls (or indeed boys) over the age of 16: apparantly it's illegal for under-16s to kiss anyone. It's good to know the Government is so eager to prevent unsolicited and dangerous activities like underage kissing.

Mmmm.

I'm hoping for a sombrero, or at least some kind of silly Mexican headwear.

Presents so far include a rather nifty tweed jacket, courtesy of master Mikey P.



And some compost.

Mmmm.

I've decided I want to live in a tree. A big one, with holes cut into it for rooms. The furniture would be living tree, and I'd sleep on a pile of leaves. I would be at one with nature, and have deep meaningful conversations with squirrels (all they can talk about at the moment is their nuts).

I'd dress in a robe made of treecloth, and drink the sap of the tree. I'd weave joyful dances with wolves, and gaze at the stars by night. I'd laugh the laugh of the forest, and pull faces at chimpanzees.

I'd sing with all the voices of the mountains, and paint with all the colours of the wind.

I'd make bad puns about finding my roots, and branching out in life. I'd cackle the glee of a merry merry man, and doodle on the trees with my teeth.

In fact, I think I will.

Might not see you for a while, I don't think they have broadband in nature.