Doctor Who is NOT biscuits, I repeat, NOT biscuits!

Today 'tis my my birthday.  I have reached an age which has got an 0 at the end and is therefore a major cause of celebration.  Possibly because I have managed to reach this age without dying which, you have to admit, given my propensity for throwing myself if not in the way of trouble then certainly only slightly to trouble's left, is something of an achievement.

To mark this continued lack of affilitation with the Grim Reaper, people have generously pressed gifts upon me.  In some cases quite literally, since I was repeatedly struck with a large bunch of lilies and a box of M&S Belgian Chocolate biscuits was squeezed upon my loveliness beneath my large fluffy jacket, it being meterologically of the chilly persuasion today. And I did get to go to the very lovely Appleton Spa, courtesy of my lovely children (having lots of children stands me in very good stead when it comes to 'Have a Whip Round for Mother').  And then I got rubbed with stuff, had stuff painted on me, and then had a Head Massage (which did not kick start my brain, sadly).  It is a very nice place, and I got to lie in the Hot Tub in the snow.   In fact, this has been my first White Birthday!

So, in combination with people giving me lovely things and the white stuff continuously falling from the sky, it has been a most memorable day.  I intend to spend most of the remainder of it sponging squashed biscuits from my body and snuggling in front of an open fire watching Dr Who DVD's.  I may lick the biscuits off the  sponge if I really feel like pushing the boat out, although given my propensity for memory lapses I may find myself licking Dr Who and staring at a small yellow sponge bobbing about in greasy water.  Worse still, I may well find this entertaining.

                                              Gripping, I think you'll all agree.

I know how to live!  The secret is to keep breathing In and let the whole Out thing take care of itself.  Disclaimer - Embarassing noises caused by the Out procedure are not the responsibility of Yours Truly, you are on your own with the whole 'parp' thing.

I may well be licking this man off my body later.  But only because I forgot he isn't M&S Belgian Chocolate biscuits, you understand.  And I probably won't enjoy it.  Well, one of us won't.  And it may, or may not, be me.

So.  Happy Birthday To Me.  I shan't sing, because I know how it distresses you, so I shall just hum quietly while you all muse on your lacklustre performance in the Sending Me Presents department, and then I shall leave you to your guilt.

Darlings, you shouldn't have!  Can I eat them now?