Being 50

Oooh, another blog in quick succession.

I am 50 today. Happy birthday to me. It now means that, according to last year's survey of British feature screen writers, I am now old enough to be employed as a writer of features. Hurrah!

I had a pleasant weekend, thank you for asking.

Yesterday morning I opened my presents. A couple of weeks ago Pam and I had gone to look for presents for a friend and in a tiny shop we found some great paintings. One of which was of the eyes of Dusty Springfield. Okay, I love Dusty Springfield and have done since the 60s.

My wife bought it for me, limited edition prints but the painter always writes something different on the back of each print and signs it, so each one is unique.

Yesterday evening the family went for a meal (that's the four of us, a nuclear family) at a local Indian Restaurant. Excellent food, excellent service, friendly atmosphere, and very busy.

Then today we went for a long walk with the puppy (the cats still hate him) and dabbled in industrial archaeology. The area we walked through was once filled with the mills so hated by Blake, but now its green and filled with trees. But you can still find traces, like the half-buried narrow gauge railway tracks running beside the reservoir.

Then we had fondue for lunch. The boy demonstrated the saxophone he's now learning to play (he already plays the tenor horn and piano).

I always claim that there's nothing special about being 50. I don't feel 50 anyway and most people assume I'm younger (which is nice). But I found the card I got with the big "50" on it a little disturbing. Could I be in denial?

Anyway that's 50 for you. Personally I'm planning on living forever.

So far, so good.

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What's on the turntable? "Incantations Part One" by Mike Oldfield from "Incantations"