Tag Archives: Haribo

10.10.10

10 Oct
Today is the Hub’s birthday.  What a shame he isn’t ten, thirty or a hundred; I like number neatness. 
 
Spud and I woke him with presents.  He always manages to guess what we’ve bought but we fooled him this year by not getting him anything.

When we were very young

 

Just kidding; I’ve been saving for months and I had £3.71 to splurge with (remember my Christmas savings jar from last year?).  Apart from a box set of Goodnight Sweetheart, I got him packets and packets of Buttons and Haribo; some Christmas card tags; and a magazine.  This is where the fooling came in: he loves Airliner World and can’t afford it so he had asked for a copy.  I bought Airways and gave him that instead.  He smiled resignedly, knowing that I never get these things right – if he says ‘no’ to coffee, he gets one anyway; if he asks for Galaxy, he gets Buttons; if he gets a dvd box set of Goodnight Sweetheart, he already has four of the six dvds in the set sitting on his shelf.   

He said it was okay, he was quite happy to read that one.  He is a geek, after all; it’s what they do.  Spud then gave him a large flat packet that confounded all the Hub’s present guessing instincts – don’t worry; don’t lose the faith; it was just a blip: how many people, no matter how irritatingly excellent to the point of spoiling everyone else’s fun at guessing they are, given pound shop sky lanterns on their birthday, would instantly guess what it was they’d just been given?  Especially if it was a decoy gift: inside was the latest copy of Airliner Nerds of the World Unite magazine, just as he’d requested, plus a war movie to get him in the party mood.

We got him gooooood.  Of such small triumphs is happiness made.

The Birthday Boy gets to choose dinner on his birthday – sort of a last meal in reverse, though sticking to the spirit of the-condemned-man-celebrates-with-food-that-turns-into-ashes-in-his-mouth, given who’s doing the cooking.  The Hub always chooses sandwiches, falling as they do into ‘least likely to be burned’ category. 

That was today’s plan until Tory Boy phoned to say he wasn’t coming home Friday and going back today but just coming for the afternoon because he had been offered extra working hours.  Any activity that doesn’t require me to fund it is to be encouraged, so I asked him what meal he would like for his too-short visit: Lost Child trumps Old Man every time, I’m afraid.  He chose a roast and, to add insult to injury, the Hub was going to have to get up from his birthday couch to go buy all the ingredients for his usurped meal as my fridge is still by the front door due to the ongoing kitchen refurb.  However, Tory Boy saved the birthday because he phoned this morning to say he was free on Wednesday so he would come through on Tuesday night instead of today: he gets his roast; we get to see more of him; and the Hub gets his birthday sandwiches.  Once he’s been to the shop and bought the ingredients, that is.

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