Ooh, birthdays should come more than once a year, although I suppose one has to be the Queen or Paddington Bear. I have been properly pampered and am slightly worse for wear - only slightly, because I'm not correcting typos as I type; that necessity being an ominous sign of non-sobriety.
Seriously, I wonder what teetotallers do to let their hair down? I don't doubt that they can and do, I'm just not sure how.
My internet connection is dreadfully slow tonight, after several weeks of being very well-behaved. Maybe everyone else is blogging at this very minute.
Um. I'm quite relaxedly cheerful and not capable of coherent thought. I'm due in a music lesson tomorrow, where the pupils will be invited to start work on an arrangement of Coldplay's 'Clocks' or the Kaiser Chiefs' 'I predict a riot'. Yes indeed. Neither of them a favourite of mine. I am sorry to have moved away from Cameo's 'Word Up', which I like. Anyway, I'm off for a bath. I've new stuff to use, including a fabulously soft and long bathrobe and I am too tired to type more.
Oh, when you've got something stuck in your throat, it's true that dry bread takes it down, even if it hurts to swallow. My throat is still sore, but recognisably as an after-effect, not because something's still there.
Goodnight, darlings, You are lovely.