In Which I Am Older But Not Necessarily Wiser

Henry VIII and I have a lot in common. We were both born in Greenwich - he in what was known then as Greenwich Palace (and is now the Old Royal Naval College), I in Greenwich Hospital (which was demolished in 2006 and is now probably a block of flats, I would imagine). We both have beards, if the paintings of him are in any way an accurate reflection of the man. We both favour the larger bodyshape, although he tended to prefer the legging which is not, I have to say, one of my own favoured items of clothing (I only wear them on special occasions). We also have a penchant for rejecting the authority of the papacy in Rome and setting ourselves as head of a newly established Church of England... oh no, wait, that was just him, actually. I get us mixed up sometimes.

We also shared this very day as being that of the one on which we were born - admittedly, his was nearly five hundred years before mine, but still...

All of which is an extremely roundabout way of saying that I'm another year older and yet still fairly clueless. All things going to plan, I shall lying in a stupor at this point, possibly vowing never to touch another drop of alcohol ever again for the rest of my life until I meet up with some mates for more drinks on Thursday. Yes, I'm writing this in advance as I have no intention of doing any actual writing on my birthday. Day off. So this is coming to you from the very slight past. I'm hoping that the future world you're reading this in has flying cars and cool laser guns for everyone but I might be hoping for a little too much change in 24 hours. Still, a man can dream...