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The Fifth of February is what in future generations could well be hailed as More Day. Obviously the great thing for which I am to be remembered, has not occurred yet. Or if it has, it certainly didn't seem great at the time.

My exact age is still a big debate amongst leading archeologists who put it at somewhere between the Big Bang and the ten year anniversary of the making of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.

And my birthday was a somewhere between the Big Bang and a viewing of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. And one thing it certainly was is full of girls. I had not planned it this way - I invited pretty much everyone I knew here who I thought would go. Just as many boys as girls, I thought. It just happened that when the group reached its peak (volume-wise), in an Irish bar on the Leidseplein, there were 13 people (by my calculations), three of whom were male.

It was drawn to my attention especially when we got up to move on (then 3 girls down), and a little feller comes up to me as the instigator and implores me not to leave and declares it to be a crime that one guy can get up and have so many women follow him. Trust me, it doesn't happen every day. Not even every birthday.

So I led my band of Disney-named Dames (Hanna, Anna, Joanna, Claartje, Claire) headed off out into the dizzy night of Amsterdam. It all starts to get very hazy after that. But a good time was had by all.

Well by me, at least, and everyone else said they enjoyed it. But who cares? It wasn't their birthday.