It's my birthday today. I am 44. That's fouty-four. That's half way to 88 by which time I could well be dead. Possibly even long dead. So far I have celebrated by doing a three hour performance review and a two hour round trip to Newry for a one hour business meeting (which featured a painfully boring presentation in place of a birthday cake for me).
Tomorrow is a big day but I am nervous about it for two people. One is a friend. The other is me. Said friend is delivering a speech tomorrow evening written by my goodself. I've assured her she's nothing to worry about and it seems to have worked. She's very cool and checked-in about it. It's me that's stressing for her. I've asked her that if it's a success she pays me the sum of 5p so that I may change my Twitter bio and add "Professional Speech Writer".
I'm also stressing because I have to attend a party tomorrow night in fancy dress. It's a 60s theme and I just can't be bothered with that sort of thing anymore. I'm too old. I'm half way to 88 for heavens sake.
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