You’re having a fucking laugh.

My Lindy always made a fuss over my birthday.  Much like Christmas this went back to her own childhood when no-one ever remembered when it was.  And if they had they wouldn’t have cared.  She loved her Granny but she was mental.  And mucky.  That’s why the Environmental Health were ayeways coming round.

I don’t remember any birthdays from when I was young.  Not mine anyway.  I vaguely remember Mrs Robertson doon the stair getting in a twist when her laddie had a birthday and the first Ugandan refugee had arrived.  Not in a bad way.  She really wanted to make sure there would be something for him to eat.  “Do ye think he’ll eat the sausage rolls and jelly?’  Aye we were all evil white imperialist racists back in the seventies.

Back to me.  Mrs H would be up at the crack of dawn putting up balloons and banners.  And she wouldnae be happy if I was getting some sleep.  So an early morning elbow in the ribs and a chorus of Happy Birthday was in order.  We ayeways used to go away for our birthdays.  That was our holidays.  A week in April, usually at a riverside cottage for her birthday.  And an October trip tae the seaside for me.  We didnae really do presents, it was the fuss that counted.

Obviously she’s dead now but two days ago I went oot for a birthday tea.  Some ex-colleagues and an American cousin who was passing through town.  Nae friends as regular readers will know.  Now I billed it as my First and Last Birthday Dinner / Farewell Meal but if they noticed, they’ll have assumed it was hyperbole.  What with my tendency to the dramatic.

But I left the Facebook yesterday and I’m definitely leaving Edinburgh in the New Year.  A sea view for my final breath.  Something I hope will come sooner rather than later as being in a house and city that I shared with my Lindy means I’m too riddled with guilt to take that final step.

Fingers crossed this will be the last birthday I spend alone.