If IMDB and my maths are correct, then Peter Davison was 29 when he sat up on his elbows and looked a bit bewildered.
So, as of today, I am the same age as a Dr Who.
Obviously I'm feeling old, because a birthday isn't a cause for excitement so much as a cue to philosophise. About Dr Who, anyway.
Davison is now (counts on fingers...) 54. So next year, the dashing young Doctor with the pleasant, open face will be the same age as William Hartnell was, when he first got the gig. I had to do the counting a few times over, to convince myself that really is the case.
Anyway. Splendid, easy birthday with breakfast in bed followed by a surprise trip to Tonbridge Castle. It's been recently done up, and the audio-guide round the place was exactly right, with plenty of (admirably brief) contemporary sources giving vivid, sometimes funny accounts of how the whole thing worked. Just my cup of tea, and the Doctor approved at a professional level, and all. Boozy long lunch followed, and we never did get to Tunbridge Wells. Mmm.
Absolutely sweltered though - and England seems far stickier than Italy. On the way home, we stopped off for shopping, and the sky was clearing its throat as we left Sainsburys. Being rained on at the end of a hot day is bliss.
Did very well for loot this year, and am already enthralled by The Spy Who Came In From The Cold - a gift from the Baldrick-in-law. Good castle, good book, good booze, and the good Doctor recommends snuggling down in front of Star Wars tonight.
Probably doesn't get much better than this, does it?