Had lunch with the parents yesterday, at which my Mum told me a top fact: between three and three-thirty in the afternoon thirty years ago, I slippped out into the world. At quarter to four I had my first ever bath.
This was of especial interest to the Dr, who in our bathless abode misses a good long soak. No, I don't just mean me.
She was careful to look for differences between me last night in the winter of my 20s, and me this morning as a crusty old man. And claimed she could see no great different, though she may have been sparing the truth.
Have done rather well on the presents front already: a bread-maker and some suitable reading from the wife; a bag full of Dr Who Adventureses (including free gifts) from one of her henchwomen; and a spiff-tastic book from Nimbos explaining how to make trip-wires and treehouses. Hoorah!
The Dr has also turfed me out of the house for the afternoon while she prepares for this evening's festivities. Am a bit scared about what surprises she has in store. Have spent a nice time drinking tea and watching telly with Nimbos, not playing in the sunshine.
And must shortly head back home to the nice mrs, to drink and eat. And fear her.