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Fifty-fucking-seven. What an absolute joke. Who's idea was this?
Woke up in the house where I had so many childhood birthdays, (but haven't had very many in the last forty years) and nice to spend the day with my folks. And the kids skived off school so they could come over and join us, which was a lovely bonus. It's tough having these five and six day excursions without seeing them, so to get a day to hang out in the middle of this run was birthday present enough for me. And the electric car made the long journey with 90 miles to spare.
In the morning I tried to do something to assuage the toll that touring has taken on my fitness and went for a run round Cheddar res. I got about halfway before I needed to stop and walk, which isn't bad given how little running I've been doing and walked back home along the Strawberry line and
remembered the epic bike rides that Phoebe and me had along there last year. In the stand up show I talk about my desire to create memories for the kids if I was going to die. That's a great one that I got to experience thanks to the doctors who saved me. I hope Phoebe will still be thinking about that in the 22nd Century. I hope I will be too, but accept that that's more like a 50/50 shot.
I was nearly asleep on the sofa when the rabble arrived and didn't get much time to stop after that. Both kids wanted to dig up the back garden to look for treasure - next time we must remember to bring the metal detector - and we managed a sizeable hole, but only found a bit of broken glass and a few bits of pottery from the 20th Century. We played some football and ate cake and the kids were unusually well behaved, giving their grandparents a nicely false impression of what charming people they are. Aunty Jill turned up with presents and sweets and balloons. I am lucky to have such a wonderful family, not that I will ever tell any of them that!
The decade of my fifties seems determined to disappear in a puff of smoke and a flash of Covid, but still three years until my bus pass. And then I might have to give up my dream of playing football for England (or even York City).
