My 34th birthday is this Saturday the 3rd. I share it with actress Pauline Collins (the star of Shirley Valentine), Steve Jones of the Sex Pistols, and the anniversary of the outbreak of World War 2. Today I discovered I also share it with the TV presenter Fearne Cotton, who did for Live 8 viewers’ consciousness what Mr Hitler did for Poland.
Traditionally, I never hold any kind of organised gathering for the celebration of my advancing demise. This year, though, I have decided to spend the evening in The Boogaloo, not least because it’s the nearest bar to my bed. Possibly the best London pub to feature the soundtrack albums for Performance and Bugsy Malone on its jukebox.
I shall be there from about 7pm to closing with my friends Mr Smirnoff, Ms Tonic, and Ms Sense Of Increasingly Wasted Potential. All human friends, kind strangers and wary acquaintances are invited, but only if their hearts are genuinely inclined. I hereby absolve all Slaves of Token Birthday Duty from their burden. I adore company, but find dutiful company far more depressing than comfortingly sincere solitude.
Photo: DE comforting himself with sincere solitude at Cafe Royal, Edinburgh, August 23rd 2005. Taken by obliging barwoman.
Edinburgh diaries to follow. I’ve been laid low (or rather, laid lower) by a summer cold for the last 7 days. It now seems to be taking its leave and I’m keen to get on with getting things done.
