Another bloody birthday

January is a perfectly bloody month for birthdays. I've endured four already, and all with unnaturally high degrees of hands-on-ness demanded from me. Cooking and baking mostly (and the shopping before and the washing-up after and then the serving out and blimmin'eck more washing up didn't I just do some of this already?) .

And the present-buying, so soon after Christmas ha ha, except this year I discovered Amazon vouchers - now there's a present which says you care - well it would to me. (What on earth possessed them to call it Amazon? It's the first thing SO sees when he opens the credit card bills. Sometimes the second, third and fourth thing too. Now if it was called Valkyrie, say, it would be tucked neatly under the fold, and SO would have those monthly extra few seconds of his head not exploding. Again.)

And tomorrow is mine - Li'l Sis is cooking, huzzah, and to my immense relief SO has FINALLY explained to his mother the mechanics of the Amazon Wish List. Actually he did this before Christmas. How startled was I when, having opened her gift to me - which I normally do wishing desperately for a lead apron, a toughened-glass visor and extremely long tongs on account of having to unwrap, AND THEN FIND SOMETHING NICE TO SAY ABOUT, for instance a painting of such hideousness it makes vitreous humour leak out of your ears, or a hat, scarf and gloves set from Tie Rack fer Pete's sake - when has she ever seen me wear a - oh I get it. She thought I needed them.

Blast. I've put a full-stop now - two actually, if this was Word the screen would be all over green wiggly lines as the poor software looked desperately for a verb.

Be that as it may. This year, MiL's wrapping paper concealed Benvenuto Cellini's autobiography, and David Lodge's 'Art of Fiction'. BLIMEY! I thought. If this isn't the most amazing co-incidence! How on earth did she come to choose two of the books I really want to read! So I'm approaching tomorrow with that particular weight off my mind.

And with a nod to I, Like the View, here are the lyrics to my current earworm -

It's not easy having yourself a good time
Greasing up those bets and betters
Watching out they don't four-letter
If I can kiss you both at the same time
Smells-like something I've forgotten
Curled up died and now it's rotten

I'm not a gangster tonight
Don't want to be a bad guy
I'm just a loner baby
And now you're gotten in my way

I can't decide
Whether you should live or die
Oh, you'll probably go to heaven
Please don't hang your head and cry
No wonder why
My heart feels dead inside
It's cold and hard and petrified
Lock the doors and close the blinds
We're going for a ride

It's a bitch convincing people to like you
If I stop now call me a quitter
If lies were cats you'd be a litter
Pleasing everyone isn't like you
Dancing jigs until I'm crippled
Slug ten drinks I won't get pickled

I've got to hand it to you
You've played by all the same rules
It takes the truth to fool me
And now you've made me angry

I can't decide
Whether you should live or die
Oh, you'll probably go to heaven
Please don't hang your head and cry
No wonder why
My heart feels dead inside
It's cold and hard and petrified
Lock the doors and close the blinds
We're going for a ride

Oh I could throw you in the lake
Or feed you poisoned birthday cake
I wont deny I'm gonna miss you when you're gone
Oh I could bury you alive
But you might crawl out with a knife
And kill me when I'm sleeping
That's why

I can't decide
Whether you should live or die
Oh, you'll probably go to heaven
Please don't hang your head and cry
No wonder why
My heart feels dead inside
It's cold and hard and petrified
Lock the doors and close the blinds
We're going for a ride