Tuesday 10 March 2020

Birthday chips...

It's my birthday today, I was born in 1957 at the peak of the boomer years. The same year that those bloody Japs (remember Pearl Harbour) started selling Toyota cars in the US, the year the Suez Crisis ended, Russia (the USSR) launched Sputnik 1 (comradeski), South Vietnam was attacked by Viet Cong guerillas and kicked off all that shit (I love the smell of Napalm in the morning), Elvis bought Graceland (been there, done that, still in the building ma'am) The first nuclear reactor opened in Pennsylvania and (rather spookily given current events) the Asian Flu epidemic raged and 30,000 Brits succumbed to it one-way or another. It was also the year that the Frisbee was invented and I've been whirling ever since.

Of course, back then we took this in our stride and hardly broke into a sweat - we were tougher and rougher and we still had cowboy programmes on TV (you know proper programmes, not silly bints and bint blokes with painted on eyebrows pouting into the camera and requiring you to adjust your colour control because of all the orangenot that there was colour TV back then). Times were somehow more real and you could believe what the papers published and the BBC broadcast, or so we were led to believe.

Yes, my bloody birthday and I'm sixty - fruiting - three. An old man by anyone's standards back then when only half of blokes lived to collect their pensions (not unlike today really, but for different reasons - you'll be ninety before you get yours).

Apparently, the number 63 symbolizes humanitarianism, harmony, balance, tolerance, idealism and family (see, I really am perfect like I've always said). As a number, it resonates with the energy of the numbers 6 and 3, as well as number 9 (reduced to a single digit). The number 6 signifies home, family, harmony and idealism. The number 3 signifies creativity, expression, idealism, tolerance and inspiration. The number 9 signifies humanitarianism, philanthropy and tolerance. So, in general, my age signifies philanthropy, optimism and healing so just call me the Dalai Lama. (optimistic moi? I don't fruiting think so. We are all doomed). 

But what's in a number anyway? Don't they say age is just a number? Well, obviously but I'd rather be 23 than 63, it'd give me a better chance in these virus-challenging times.

Still, sixty-three, not bad for an old reprobate like me. I'm still rock 'n rolling (not quite in a wheelchair yet), still spinning my Hula-Hoop. My slinky may have slunk, but I haven't had my chips yet. It's on days like this that I remember the words of Hunter J. Thompson, 'Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well-preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up and loudly proclaiming " Wow! What a ride!"

At least when I'm singing Happy Birthday to myself in the bathroom (twice) it'll have a little relevance. Okay, that's it for today. I'm off to do my celebratory thing. Chips in the car here I come!


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