The Birthday Month.

Today marks the beginning of the birthday month. This is, quite frankly, the worst month of the year. We begin today with what is not only my mother's birthday, but Canada Day. Or so I was informed at silly o'clock by a certain patriotic ex-pat. Happy Birthday, Canada!

Today seems to be a popular day for birthdays. Apparently the first of November is a good day to get jiggy. Not only was my mother born on this day, but Ceecee was, as was my friend Nicky/Nasib, from uni. I must remember to wish them both well. I made and sent Ceecee a card, but she'll not get it. She never does. Or, at least, if she does, she never says thank you. And she would, so I just assume that somewhere between here and South Australia, there's a greedy postman.

In precisely one week, my papa will turn fifty-four. He's getting old, hm? He's almost fully grey these days, although he still stubbornly (and most amusingly) insists that he's not turning grey and getting old, he's just going blond again, the way he was when he was a child. He's a dork. I love him. I don't have a clue what to get him. The problem with my dad is that if there's something he wants, he buys it. He has a couple of solidly founded interests that've allowed me to buy him spot-on gifts in the past; he's a fan of fairground rides, of the Clyde islands, of basking sharks, of the paddle-steamer Waverley. Whether I've bought him a nice framed painting of an Ark he worked on when he was a teenager, or a DVD of the Clyde in the years that he was there with his family, or a book focusing on basking sharks or a DVD or small model of the Waverley, or a trip on a hot-air balloon, it's gone down well. The problem is, I'm kind of running out of ideas. Anything further I buy him is likely to just sit somewhere and become junk. I haven't a clue, and it's frustrating. When I'm older and can afford it, I'll buy him a little boat and pay for it to be moored at Largs. He'd love that.

Then, on the thirteenth, it's Pete's mum's birthday. I haven't a clue what to get her, but that's Pete's responsibility. He buys for his family and sticks my name on, and I do the same for mine. I think I might suggest that he buy her a new phone. She wouldn't cope with something high-tech, but when we were visiting Stevie this weekend, her phone kept on cutting out while she was talking. It must be very frustrating; I've had phones that have done that. She's currently coping on one of Pete's old phones, so I think she's definitely due a new one. Good idea, 'Ren.

Then, on the twenty-fifth, it'll be my own birthday. If you're squeamish, don't click my links. Have you heard of Goatse? (Really, don't click if you're easily grossed out.) All I want for Christmas my birthday is a Goatse cake.