Spud is fourteen today. I can hardly believe it…not that it’s fourteen years since I gave birth to him, but that he’s survived fourteen years of my cooking and slapdash care (if I can machine-wash a mobile phone, just think of how many near-misses my kids have had over the years).
Spud’s seventh birthday. He was Pikachu; I was Bridget Jones, one-tonne-six goddess.
We hope he is going to have a nice day, but the signs are not good:
- It’s raining (you’ve seen the movies: rain = unhappiness)
- Gift number four has not arrived despite being ordered over a week ago (blame the snow). It was originally gift number one but absence makes the list grow longer
- No Weekenders club tonight (blame the snow) and no new game (see point 2) to play in its stead
- Cards he knows will contain money from friends and relatives have not arrived (blame the snow…yawn) and thus he cannot purchase new game to play in the stead of cancelled Weekenders club and absence of first choice of game
I’m just kidding. He’s in a great mood and loves his blue tooth ear piece thing for the PS3, six-pack of Pepsi Max, and MP4 player. We will buy him a cake today (chocolate, as instructed) and the Hub is treating us to a Chinese takeaway for dinner. Spud is at the match tomorrow so we are taking him and three friends – if he remembers to invite them; he’s getting forgetful in his old age – to the movies and afterpizza, next weekend.