Poor old bugger

It's my birthday tomorrow.

I shall be very, very old. But not as old as Jonathan. And not old enough to get unsolicited mail from SAGA or insurance companies offering special deals for the over 50s.

But I shall still be old. And wrinkly. And grey. (So why do I still get the occasional zit?)

So please will someone tell me when I will be grown up enough to realise how totally stupid I must look walking through Leeds pissed at 6 in the evening.