It was my birthday yesterday. As predicted, I didn't go clubbing, mostly because I spent the money on groceries, but also because my Gout decided to pop up for some agony. Besides, I prefer a low key day. Can't see much reason to celebrate being 32. I'd rather be 22 again. Sometimes i feel every day of 32, some days I long to be sixteen again. Mostly I just don't want to be getting older. The grey hair can piss off, too.

Nevertheless, we had a great time scoffing ourselves stupid at the Big Wok for lunch.

Mum bought me her usual things - couple of t-shirts and a set of wooden puzzles which frustrate us madly - "where's the instructions? Is there a piece missing? I don't get it, where does that bit go? " and so on.

Charlie's mum got me a wallet, Dad got me a watch and we're working slowly through the MASH season five box set.

But tip of the top is an amazing present which Charlie sneaked past me in a quite spectacular way. When we arrived home from the Big Wok, the post was waiting for us, including a big brown envelope from Swansea, with a card in it.

My Provisional Driving License!

I was seventeen fifteen years ago. I was offered driving lessons or a stereo. I took the stereo. Dick!

It's taken fifteen years to rectify that mistake. Now all I need is 30 hours of lessons and The Beast is all mine again!

The Beast, not yesterday