Birthday

Good grief, I'm 23.

Shortly the "quarter of a century" comments will kick off, and from here on out it's just one long futile struggle against failing eyesight, diminishing mental capacity and the warm appreciation of tartan slippers.
Pretty soon I'll be driving at 40 mph regardless of the actual speed limit and grossly overestimating the simplicity of spheres of endeavour outside my immediate experience ("Oooh, they're making another Star Wars film at Pinewood! Maybe you can get in on the script-writing!"*).
On the upside, I'll be able to just make up 'facts' without fear of contradiction and annoy restaurant staff by ordering anything but what's on the menu.

Gah.




* Best response: "What script?"
Second best response: "Yes, Grandpa."