And yet, despite this momentous occasion, Google don’t seem to have created a special logo for me!
Ah well, it appears despite the shit the gods like to throw at us, I have survived another year.
43 feels like a fairly non-descript age – it doesn’t have a 0 at the end, it’s barely early-forties, not quite mid-forties. It’s a prime number, but that ceases to have any meaning beyond maths lessons when you’re 12.
However, it does mean I’ve passed the average life expectancy for a man living in Liberia (41.84), Sierra Leone (41.24), Mozambique (41.18), Lesotho (40.38), Zambia (38.63), Angola (38.20), and Swaziland (31.88). And if I live as long as the average British male, I have 36 and half years left.
Elvis was 42 when he died, so I’ve lasted longer than him too.
Among my birthday cards this morning was one from my grandchildren, which included this badge:
And this drawing from my granddaughter, Poppy, which illustrates when I was up taking photos of them last time I was there:
Left to right:
Door, Poppy's mum, her younger brother, me, the camera on a tripod, Poppy herself, her baby brother, and then I'm guessing SpongeBob SquarePants on the TV.