Birthdays– who’d have ’em?
Ticky-bets the only time you’ve been chuffed about getting ancient was in the past few weeks when the older you were, the sooner you got your jab. Peerin’ through the decades, I reckon I looked forward to – with tiddling excitement – every birthday up until I was 21. Then it’s a‘ doonhill.
I wanted to stay a blissful 18-to-21 forever. In my heidie, I still am. Aren’t you?
Reluctantly adding another notch last week, I recalled the milestone ones. The 21st I shared with my best pal’s boyfriend. Nothing cheaty, even though she was in Germany.
A gadgie from Glasgow I’d met the week before at the Beach turned up. Forgotten I’d invited him. Second-sights, deffo a no-go. He later departed in high dudgeon, declaring how much he’d spent on the bus fare, while I danced on to Mo-ny Mo-ny.
Just drinks with pals for my 30th and 40th. Comes the 50th. Apparently a work quine suggested to my then hubbie they plan a surprise party, including food, drink, the lot.
Sez he: “No, Mo would rather organise it herself.”
Ye Gods. Earth to Man! I did. All great – apart from the fight between two daftie mannies aboot 3am, who ended up accidentally taking the other’s coat home.
Karma. Deffo the best birthday was my 60th, also my retirement from the EE. I’d booked The Rusty Nail – nae too big lest I looked freenless.
How lucky was I? It was packed with old friends and colleagues, the highlight being their words to my all-time favourite: “I Heard It Through the Mo-vine.” Me a goss? Has a Dons fan hid enough o’ McInnes?
My 70th in New York, courtesy of my loon and quine. (Hope yer savin’ up for my 80th, kiddos.)
So, since last week’s birthday was nothing special, I expected – nothing special. My prezzie to masellie had already been pretty pricey. Struggling to read words on my telly (40-inch) to the optician for new lenses in telly specs, new walking specs; new prescription, anti-glare sunglasses. Costaflamingfortune – and still couldna mak oot’ print on the screen.
So what did I get from my bairns last week? Nothing on the day, but told “it’’ would arrive Wednesday, from John Lewis.
Mummy, daddy, sounds expensive. Some new techno-gadget I canna work?
Sez my loon: “When they come to deliver, just tell them to leave it in the porch.” Here’s me: “Sounds heavy.” Here’s him: “You could say that.”
Came the JL mannies. Have you guessed? I did, but thought it was wishful thinking. A new, 50-inch telly. Eee-haa. Netflix and fa’-kens-fit-else built in. And I can read every word – even without my extortionate new specs!
Local hero who helped save millions
I was sad to read this week about the death, at 94, of one of our supreme local heroes.
Pioneering physicist Professor John Mallard worked for years with his small team on the Foresterhill campus, eventually developing the world’s first full-body MRI scanner.
Since then, his diagnostic invention has gone on to save millions of lives all over the world. He was a charming, modest man who worked tirelessly to fulfil his vision. Thankfully for all of us, his legacy lives on.
I’m boxing clever with the small screen
You will have gathered that during my year of lockdown my telly has been my saviour – my ever-entertaining companion with whom I’m never lonely.
A bit like a book club, a few mates and me exchange suggestions for programmes then compare notes. That way you sort of siphon off some the dross without having to watch it. Mind you, I was caught oot by The Queen’s Gambit. They loved it. I loathed it.
My downfall is binge-watching series you can play one episode after another. Canna resist just taking a peek at the beginning of the next, then the next, then it’s 4am. Just to show you how much of a telly-geek I am, I’m in a Facebook group for Frasier fans who gabble on about the tiniest details of all 11 seasons.
Like me, they’ve watched each episode countless times – still as funny, clever and endearing as ever. Weekday mornings on Channel 4. Go on, treat yersellie.
But there’s huge news for us this week. Kelsey Grammer, who played Frasier, is planning a “reboot” – a whole new series of the show. Already there’s huge controversy among the afficionados that it’s doomed to failure because one of the stars, John Mahoney, is dead, while the wonderful, wonderful David Hyde Pierce (Niles) and Jane Leeves (Daphne) have said they’re not interested. Maybe perfection’s best left untouched.
This article originally appeared on the Evening Express website. For more information, read about our new combined website.
