I have always been fairly neutral when it comes to her Madge. I am not of course referring to the popular chanteuse Madonna here but HRH. No, not Clare Balding, the other one. Liz (or Brenda as Private Eye prefer) c/o Buckingham Palace. The one thing I really doff my cap to her for though (see below for this months natty headwear for doffing purposes) is the whole two birthdays thing the ‘actual’ and the ‘official’. Now that is clever.
Not being a monarch I haven’t quite cracked this double celebration gig but I like to pride myself on being a genius in the art of eking out my birthday. Eke is a great word. This year the actual day was a Tuesday (5th thanks for asking, so yes you did miss it) and to me it doesn’t seem unreasonable to start celebrating say the Satday before (especially when Lesta are at home), continue to the following Satday (when Lesta are at home) and keep plodding on like the candle-blowing, card-opening, cake-scoffing martyr that I am until the following Satday on the grounds that up until then there has been too much football to find time for Mr TLF to take me out for a suitably lavish birthday luncheon anytime near to the said date (5th for future reference).
There was a bit of a dampener to that first official celebration, as it soon became apparent that early kick-offs and hangovers do not mix. Once again that extra cheeky red was haunting me, except this time it was an extra bottle and we had been drinking all afternoon. Still as I become an ever more ancient TLF I am becoming nothing if not more resourceful and over the course of the day managed to develop a new and improved hangover cure. Basically mix the following, ideally in the order described below.
- Gallon of tea
- Bacon cob (a ‘roll’ will not cut it)
Those first two will at least get you to the train station.
- 1 litre water
- 1 large bag salt and vinegar crisps (Walkers obviously)
- 3 bottles Singha lager
- First Lesta goal in 38 seconds
- Shake vigorously to combine the above via a celebratory jig. Sprinkle with a soupçon of nail biting and panic until the third Lesta goal goes in.
If that doesn’t work then I don’t know what will. All finished off with some purchasing of birthday gifts from TLF to TLF in ye olde clubbe shoppe – now there’s a cap to doff.
As you can see birthdays are a serious business in the TLF mafia. I must have got it from mummy TLF, who was abroad for her first born’s (in fact her only born’s) birthday. She assures me this was to miss election campaigning not to miss my birthday – which of course she can’t miss with the eke out record like wot I have. Being birthday focussed though she had written my birthday card in advance and left it with the cat-sitter to post so it arrived on the appointed and hallowed day (understandably not wanting to leave this essential missive down to the Greek postal service). The card was about birds that are good at football – Robinho (BOOMBOOM) and those that aren’t:
Bearing in mind the shenanigans of that week with Nigel Pearson and ostrich-gate, she truly is a Mystic Mum!
HRH TLF II