Last year's birthday was memorable for my drinks party being me, a couple of guys and about a dozen women. Guys were pleading with me not to leave bars with my harem and my ego was soaring like an eagle surrounded by a dozen eaglettes. This year, I knew it was folly to try and recreate the experience. Especially as all my guy friends now knew I was such a babe magnet. (See, ego is still up there.)
This year, I think just as many women came as last. But now the genders were a lot more equal, which made for a nice big group. It was all very fitting as last year I was single and girlfriends always have objections to you being followed around by a large group of women.
One highlight was being sung Happy Birthday in half a dozen different languages, one after the other. French, Italian, Spanish, English, Dutch, Chinese and Welsh, to my poor over-Guinnessed memory. I remember Irish as well, but I think that was just the Guinness singing.
Actually it is unusual these days to have Happy Birthday sung to me on my actual birthday. Over the last six months there have been numerous occasions where for no reason that I can recall people have sung Happy Birthday to me. One evening it was sung so many times in an Irish bar, the table next to us had a whip-round and gave me 10 Euros as a present. Alas my conscience, that most irritating of all the voices in my head, made me give it back.
In future I will only listen to that voice that infrequently says, "you are a babe magnet."