Dear Friday night, Saturday and Sunday
You will be joining me in my birthday celebrations. You have no choice about this. Friday night, which should be putting in an appearance later today, who will commence proceedings by allowing D and myself to go out to dinner, whereby I will drink a ridiculous amount of champagne. And possibly eat some ridiculously extravagant food.
And then, after a fraught but usual Saturday daytime, as you like to throw at me EVERY weekend, I will spend my time with you, Saturday Night, drinking an awful lot more and possibly wondering if I'm brave enough to eat haggis.
And then, Sunday, you and I will spend the day making sure I am not hungover, having made it to 31 years and never having had one. We shall indulge in chocolate, possibly some more alcohol, and much more food I suspect.
None of you will crap on me, and this rule has been passed a law.
You guys owe me.