Tuesday December 4, 2007
“Happy Bi…” I began.
Graham hid his head under the covers. I pulled them off and continued:
“…rthday to you. [big breath] Happy Birthday to you…”
We all know the rest of the song and the delivery. The secret is to forget about quality and go for quantity. I can do a good quantity when it comes to singing. Enough quantity to shatter window glass.
“You’ll wake the neighbours,” he said.
“B*%%+# the neighbours.”
“Well, yes. If you put it like that, B*%%+# the neighbours. Is it pressie time yet?”
“Who said anything about pressies? Finish your tea and then come down to the kitchen and you never know what you might find waiting for you.”
Never has a big morning mug of scalding hot tea been swigged down so fast.
He was pleased with his presents–a ’snappy’ type digital camera for when he doesn’t want to schlepp his Nikon SLR about, and a complete boxed set of Buffy the Vampire Slayer on DVD to see the rest of the long winter nights off.
“So where’s me card, then?”
“That’s where the plan went awry, I’m afraid. I bought a card, honest I did. But I seem to have lost it. So I made you one myself.”
I handed him a limp piece of paper in a stolen envelope.
“Ah,” he said, opening it carefully. “Now, that’s sweet.”
A birthday that doesn’t have a misty eyed moment in it is a strange birthday indeed.
The author, webmaster, and minder of the cat