This is one of my most viewed photographs on Flickr. I bought this card at Portobello Road and it dates, I think, from the 40s.
Anyway I am sending it to myself today.
I am having a very low key birthday. I went to work this morning laden down with a tin of home made brownies. A new person who I don't know yet did not endear herself to me by remarking that recently she has discovered how easy it is to make brownies. (This is true but not something my colleagues need to know.) The hard thing, she said, is to know for how long to keep them in the oven. I mentioned that mine might have been in for a little too long and, rather than vehemently disagreeing with me, she said possibly they could have done with a few minutes less. Luckily for her I will not be the person doing her annual appraisal.
Later this evening I'm going down to TB's flat for dessert and presents. No doubt there will be a degree of crowing as well, as Sinead Morrissey, who I predicted would win the T.S. Eliot prize, did indeed win however as she is an Armagh woman TB is behaving as if he himself had been given the prize. He's probably ringing his mother right now trying to work out if she is his second cousin once removed.
I am missing my mother today.