Tag Archives: birthday

Good weekend; backed hard

I am very tired right now, and it’s not even 8pm. Seems that’s the way it is when you hit 29. But it also seems other things happen when you’re 29, including (but not limited to):

-Scoring a goal.

-Getting double-dollop ice cream and walking along the pier as it melts like a bastard all over your hand and nearby German girls laugh at you as you stroll past frantically licking your own paw.

-Being unable to skim any stones, at all, no matter how many you throw.

-Scoring an own goal.

-Shouting at people for celebrating a 30th birthday in the same pub you’re doing the less-landmarkish 29th.

-Having fun.

-Getting mystery t-shirts that turn out to be from your dad making a joke about Rotherham United’s new ground.

-Falling in love with another barmaid (beautiful and give you booze: LOVE LOVE LOVE).

-Getting sent wrestling paraphernalia as a present.

-Stopping writing a blog so you can order pizza because SHUT UP I EARNED IT FOR BEING NICE TO PEOPLE.

Good weekend; backed hard.

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I’M 28! Oh wait

The saddest thing about now being 29 is the fact I can no longer quote Jake from Adventure Time with any real conviction when he says “I’m 28!”. It doesn’t have the same softness that adds to the humour when it’s 29. That’s a harsh age. Harder. Sharper. Not as welcoming.

Plus I can’t listen to Pretty Boy Thorsen’s 28 Yrs with any honesty in my ears, because… wait, I can because they lyrics about ’28 years of fucking up’ still apply.

Ah, that’s alright then.

Other than that I can think of very few drawbacks. As such I’m not going to complain, unlike some people do when it gets to their nameday.

Shit, too much Game Of Thrones.

Today is beach, beaching pursuits, sitting, eating, drinking, probably eating bad things, doing stuff. I don’t know. Aren’t you supposed to be a real person by 29?

Hmm. Ah well.

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I need to buy a fileofax, or something

I really am that damn bad at organising or arranging things – this has been proven with birthdayageddon. Giving people who live hundreds of miles away a week’s notice, said week’s notice being a week’s notice for god knows what seeing as I hadn’t actually thought what we’d be doing, it getting to Friday and me deciding near-silently it would be my actual birthday thing, then re-deciding on today it would be today instead, like originally planned.

I don’t know why my brain can’t just think, sort it out, tell people and just get on with it. I’ve arranged good things before, but they were mainly a result of two things: they just randomly ended up being good and fun (see: BBQs at my basement flat), or because somebody else took the reins (see: whenever Ben is in a ten-mile radius and feels the organising itch).

When it’s just me doing it and it needs some actual attention? Nah, goes tits up mate.

Still, we shall see what happens this eve. So far I don’t think anybody bar one or two can be bothered coming out, as last night was a heavy one. Understandable. I’ll just end up upside down in a ditch, on fire. On my own. Or something.

Mid-year resolution: next birthday I will try and arrange something better. Or I will get someone else to arrange it for me, as I am shit at this malarkey.

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I am now 28. YEAH, or something.

Another successful Dransfield birthday in the bag, this one brought to you by three hours of taking screenshots, shopping at Primark for stupid school uniform shit for the work summer party and a general feeling of discontent at the total lack of Lego that’s come my way for said birthday.

At least I’m not ill this year, just slightly hungover, tired and cranky at everyone and everything.

Anyway, it’ll be interesting to if anything at all changes over the next year. Right now I can’t see myself still doing this blog in 2012, so there’s that. Then there’s other inane things to consider: will I go re-fat? Will I still be in Bournemouth? Will the Queen finally realise it’s me that should be running the country, or at the very least Bognor Regis?

I think the answers to all of the above are: maybe. Or not. Who knows? I don’t.

All I know is that I’m cream crackered, so I’m off to bed on the back of this tiny, meaningless blog about nothing. At half 11. On my birthday. Hmm.

(I’m not being morose, in case you’re wondering – just off out tomorrow to celebrate. ME ME ME.)

Another successful Dransfield birthday in the bag, this one brought to you by three hours of taking screenshots, shopping at Primark for stupid school uniform shit for the work summer party and a general feeling of discontent at the total lack of Lego that’s come my way for said birthday.

At least I’m not ill this year, just slightly hungover, tired and cranky at everyone and everything.

Anyway, it’ll be interesting to if anything at all changes over the next year. Right now I can’t see myself still doing this blog in 2012, so there’s that. Then there’s other inane things to consider: will I go re-fat? Will I still be in Bournemouth? Will the Queen finally realise it’s me that should be running the country, or at the very least Bognor Regis?

I think the answers to all of the above are: maybe. Or not. Who knows? I don’t.

All I know is that I’m cream crackered, so I’m off to bed on the back of this tiny, meaningless blog about nothing. At half 11. On my birthday. Hmm.

(I’m not being morose, in case you’re wondering – just off out tomorrow to celebrate. ME ME ME.)

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Birthday is mine today

Today is my birthday. I am now 27 years old. This may be quite old, or it may be quite young, or it may be neither young nor old. I don’t really know or care that much. Still, I’ve got a few birthdays under my belt so far, so I think I’m confident in my opinion that they’re… well, they’re alright actually.

It’s not like Christmas, which has been mainly shit for me, and it’s not like [INSERT OTHER OCCASION HERE] where I usually end up battling nine flaming cock(erels). Birthdays tend to be pleasant, if not downright fun. Even last year’s complete non-event was good, just because I got drunk with Anna. Pleasant. Even today is good – I’m ill and had to go to work, but I like my job and I’m not dead, plus the aforementioned Womana came down and is now cooking for me. Pleasant.

But there have been less simply pleasant times, more ‘fucking stupid’ times. Ben falling asleep at the table of the Mexican restaurant we were at because we’d been on the lash since about 10am, only to be woken up by me shoving jalapenos in his facial orifices is pretty high on that list. As was the trip my uni mates made to Swinton and Sheffield for – I think – my 19th. I fed them tinned ready meals and we were so bored we played cricket in my mate’s house in Sheff. But it was good fun in the end.

I don’t much care for ceremony, gift-giving and all that nonsense – I like it, but I’m just not a major player of the game. I just like birthdays because I’ve had fun on the vast majority of them. How could I do anything but like them?

Wow, this sounds a bit sentimental. Sorry.

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The day Ian Chaddock took over the world*

*Well, the internet, and only in the UK, but still. Hush.

(I refuse to sully this image with my face)

I have a friend called Ian Chaddock. A lot of people have this friend, as he is a very friendly person and a very nice person. Today is his birthday. As a result of these factors, someone decided it would be a fun little idea to make Ian Chaddock’s name a trending topic on Twitter (for those who don’t know what that means: if something is trending it’s being mentioned a lot). It seems a lot of us agreed with this idea, as at around 1pm today #ianchaddock was the top trending topic in the UK.

Is it wrong that I find this brilliant, hilarious and heartening? No. No it is not.

I am a cynical person, but Captain Haddock is a man who can perk me up whenever he wants. Even when he doesn’t want to. Even when he’s not even saying anything, or even looking at me. Thinking about his mere existence right now is making me smile. This is not a big gay love-in for the man, but an acknowledgement of the fact there are people in the world truly worthy of love and respect. Even if they do look like a giant toddler/Bender from Futurama in his human form.

It may be stupid, it may have provoked some comically over the top reactions from Twitter users unaware of who Kinny The Sack is (accusations of ‘wackiness’? WRONG. Birthday treat, dickweed). But none of that matters, because for a brief interlude today we managed to make Ian Chaddock the most important person in the UK*, just as he should be.

Happy birthday, mate. What have you been listening to? Do you want to go to the park?

*On Twitter.

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