Three Cheers for the Birthday Boy.

It's my birthday today!!! Yay!! Everyone sing!

For I'm a jolly good fellow, for I'm a jolly good fellow.
For I'm a jolly good fellowwwwwwww .......... and so say all of me.

Today I celebrate my birthday, not just because social convention dictates that I should do so, but because it's also a timely reminder that the misery I long to be put out of is one year closer to ending. And if that isn't cause to celebrate then I don't know what is.


I'm going to be 32... I think. A young man in most peoples' eyes, but already an old fart in my own. The Missus seems to find great amusement this. I told her that I may feel 70 these days, but before I met her I felt 18. 6 years together and she has put 52 on me. Christ help me, when we celebrate our 5th wedding anniversary, it'll be a miracle if both of us are still alive by then. For some unfathomable reason she seemed angered by this and went off to sulk. This was great, as I could watch the extended edition of Lord of the Rings on Blu Ray uninterrupted. The messages in my birthday cards all seem to take great delight in the fact that this will be my last birthday as a single man (as I'm officially marrying the Missus in 2 months, but that's another miserable blog for another miserable time). Those well-meaning fucks really know to make a guy feel worse. All I can say is thank fuck none of them work for the Samaritans.

So my friends visit and I receive cards with silly badges (that I admittedly wear with great pride) and open presents with a smile which has been welded onto my face, in case it slips off and into my pint of beer. Now I love every single one of my friends and family and I'd go to the ends of the earth for each one of them, but sometimes I just need them to know that I don't need presents from them. All I need from them is their absence, and surely that's not too much for a birthday boy to ask. So the Missus and I are going for dinner at a lovely Italian restaurant to celebrate my birthday. I already know I will be ordering the spaghetti bolognese. This is because depending on how the night goes, I may want to intertwine the spaghetti strands together to form a makeshift noose for my neck somewhere between dessert and coffee.


So how has my last year been? I think it's safe to say a mixed bag really. I'm now learning the art of standup comedy and I continue to write absolute bollocks, in the hope that people who read it might crack a smile and forget how shit their day has been. I'm still poor as hell. I live in the trendy West End of Glasgow which means I've found my spiritual home, and my wallet gets raped every month in rent money for the pleasure of staying there. So now I'm a broke arty farty writer in bohemian West End struggling to get by whilst plying my trade. I'm nothing if not a stereotype. Still, it's not all doom and gloom, some good things have happened this year. JLS have split up. Margaret Thatcher is dead. I've seen George Osborne cry live on worldwide TV like a little girl who's just been told that her birthday party has been cancelled. All I need now is for all One Direction members to be sentenced to life imprisonment for the violent gang-rape and murder of David Cameron, and my 2013 wishlist will be complete already.

And what are my goals to achieve before my 33rd birthday? Well, being crowned "Grand High Emperor of the Universe" would be nice. And winning £100 million+ on the Euromillions Lottery has been on my to-do list for some time now. But to be honest I'd be happy just to have all the same friends and family still around me, safe and well. It may be cliched but it's true all the same. Now dearest friends, fuck off. I've got a cake to cut and some welding to do.

Kieran (Birthday Boy) x