Happy Birthday Tory Boy

18 Apr

This is a really late post but I have had a busy day – mostly crying over my lost youth and wondering how it is that the child I once lovingly cradled in my strong young arms can now bundle me into a cupboard and hold the handle so that I can’t get out.

I’m so happy to be 20

How to lose ten pounds in one day

Tory Boy slept until noon, emulating his father who had a rough day yesterday and a pain-filled night. To ease the Hub’s entry into the day, we all piled onto our bed – including the dog, who refuses to be left out – and TB opened his cards and presents. He got something to watch, something to read, something to eat, something to spend, something to wear and something to disguise the smell.

I made our lobster dinner which turned out to be lobster dinner for one because there was so little meat in what looked like a frozen cockroach, it was tiny. The Birthday Boy got that because we bought it for him anyway, and we had left over lamb instead.

The birthday person always has the birthday cake after the birthday dinner, and lingers in the lounge while we try to find the matches that only come out five times a year, including Christmas. I have a thing about candles and fire and they have to be blown out immediately and not allowed to burn down in case we all die in our beds. We use the same candles every year and the one for our Christmas table still has two thirds to go despite being made the centrepiece for Spud’s clay Father Christmas candlestick in 2001. It goes back to the comforting orange light bulb my Dad put in our hallway so that we wouldn’t fall down the stairs in the dark: I can’t remember how many times in my childhood I woke up in the middle of the night, thinking the orange glow was the house burning down around me.

We always film the cake presentation – you will notice there are two in the above photograph – and today’s ceremony went something like this:

Hub, Spud & Me: Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday to you. Happy birthday dear Tory Boy…

Me: The camera’s not working.

Someone: What you going to do?

TB: Those cakes looked liked boobs when you carried them in.

Me: The camera’s not working…

Hub: They’re meant to look like breasts.

Me: …oh yes, it is. I had my finger on the thing.

Hub, Spud & Me: Happy Birthday to you.

Tory Boy has had a quiet day but he is exhausted from all of the campaigning he has done and I think he was glad just to spend it horizontal. He leaves us first thing in the morning with a suitcase full of food but he will be home when his exams are over. I hope. You never know with these children who grow up when you’re not looking.

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napowrimo

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I am only just getting in under midnight to qualify for my daily poem post. It is not to the prompt because I forgot what it was and I didn’t get a chance to write anything but this little thing I am still working on; bear with me, it’s a work in progress:

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Futureversity

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Dead tutors in the classroom

Dead students in the halls

Dead bibliophiles stacked in piles

In mortuaries and morgues

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Love of truth is on the wane

No-one seems to care

When courts impeach freedom of speech

The right to think is hurt

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2 Responses to “Happy Birthday Tory Boy”

  1. Rallentanda April 19, 2010 at 14:09 #

    Ask yourself why the kids are locking you up in the cupboard?
    It’s not cool walking around the house naked at your age.

    Like

    • tillybud April 19, 2010 at 21:53 #

      My secret is out!

      Like

I welcome your comments but be warned: I'm menopausal and as likely to snarl as smile. Wine or Maltesers are an acceptable bribe; or a compliment about my youthful looks and cheery disposition will do in a pinch.

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