Today is my birthday. I love birthdays. I may have mentioned it before. Any excuse to be special for a day. But I am not telling you this in the faint hope you might send me a tiara or a Nebuchadnezzar of Dom Perignon. A nod and a smile would be quite enough. A kiss might be nice.
For some reason on this day I have been reminded of when my much-loved Dad died. Returning to work the top boss, who I did not respect and therefore did not consider to have any authority over me and was not to be confused with my proper boss who was a gent and an Irishman, said “this happens every day” in way of condolence. I am not being maudlin, I am just wondering why he thought it an appropriate thing to say.
But of course it does. As do birthdays.