Here I am, up with the larks to celebrate the demise of my twenties with a bowl of muesli and a quick pootle through my email, and what do I find? My email has been disabled by an "internal server error". Surely this is not a metaphor for my encroaching old age? Whatever it is, it is bally annoying, for I am certain that my inbox is heavy laden with e-pistles from friends, relatives, publishers, and dethroned Nigerian princes offering to syphon three billion dollars through my bank account.
Anyway, on this solemn occasion of embarking upon my fourth decade, I'd like to thank my Ma and Pa, without whom none of this would have been possible, God, for creating beagles, beagles, for being beagles, Lindt, who sustained me through many a dark hour, and my twenties, which, apart from occasional internal server errors and the fact that all but seven months of 'em were eked out under the Howard government, were as foxtrottingly fine as twenties should be.
15 comments:
Hail, birthday! Congratulations on surviving the Howard years, living to see a change in governments and honing your beagle appreciation skills thusly. Please continue this trend into the next umpteenth selection of years.
I MADE THIS CAKE FOR YOU BUT THEN I ET IT.
Have a bally good birthday, Baron.
It's a good thing beagles are beagles. Imagine living in a world where beagles were donuts, and donuts were beagles, and couches were backscratchers masquerading as slippers posing as tea-cosies. You wouldn't know whether to give the donuts a pat, or to scratch your back on the slippers or warm the tea in the couche instead. Things do seem to have worked out very nicely, all things considered.
In my officially unofficial capacity as blogger of unrenown, I hereby offer you (again) my congratulations (again). You are undoubtedly the best baron I have ever known.
Happy birthday! The thirties are the best decade yet -- I bet you will love them.
Many happy returns! I have a big box of valrhona, courtesy of the bloke of the moment, so I will try to beam the happy feelings I have eating it down to you just for the day.
Martin and Eyrie, I appreciate your kind intentions, but really, this wafting of sweetmeats before my nose, only to subtract them again with the information that the sweetmeats no longer exist, or only exist in your tummies, or only exist interstate - it is an affront to my gluttony, it is. (Still, thank you for your overtures of birthdayage. I return the returns, happily, and keep some fr m'self.)
Timsky, what you say, about me being the best baron you have ever known, that is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. Bless your cotton socks.
Thank you, Vague. I have absolute faith in everything you say.
Felicitatious natalities!
Gratitudinous platitudes!
Congratulations. May you live to ingest many more thesauri!
Thanks, Ampersand Duck. I'm whipping up a Roget's with caramel sauce as we speak.
I think it's still the end of the 22nd somewhere in the world, so in real time, Happy Harlotday for the cake-pretext we can age advancement, and in Redfern time, happilisimus maximus from me and my hat collection! Doff, swish, curtsey.
Happy birthday even though late I am in deadly earnest about this. HAPPY BIRTHDAY OR ELSE - see?
Thanks, Lucy T and Mitzi B! You're lovely. (I am observing Turning Thirty Awareness Month, so there's nothing late about these felicitations at all.)
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