With the exception of September 2018 when we were holed up in a bedsit apartment in Sydney near to the LIFEHOUSE where I had only days earlier undergone an unpleasant cancer operation - see above - my life can be documented by more birthday cakes than I thought I would ever eat; to wit:
With a bit of luck, we may still be able to reuse the "3"-candle from my 63rd birthday in three years' time, provided I don't burn it at both ends.
P.S. A regular reader of this blog seems to have discovered a Freudian slip in this post of the kind where you say one thing but mean your mother. I wish to assure that particular reader that, while I dearly loved our two little dogs, both of whom have since crossed the rainbow bridge, those other inanimate animals do not reflect deeper feelings or needs or affect my other relationship in any way at all; in fact, it was my wife's idea to place them on the table, perhaps to distract from the lack of birthday presents which we dispensed with many years ago.
