Normal Service With Be Resumed Shortly

Groan. It’s come around to that time of year that I hate so much. No it’s not tax return time again, but the annual occurrence of my birthday.

The year 2007 sees me advance my presence on planet earth to 37 years and yet another step closer to that truly awful of birthdays – the big four-o. I’m already starting to get scared about that one as there’s still so much I want to do with my life before I’m rounded up and sent to the nursing home to wallow in my own filth and shout obscenities at imaginary people.

Although my quest for a soul mate remains painfully unfulfilled, my body is continuing to fall apart at an alarming rate. I’ve discovered yet more grey hairs – even my impressive facial stubble has started sprouting grey bits – and my nose hair appears to be growing faster than your average crop of bamboo.

I’m also pretty sure that the music is getting louder, the police are getting younger, the cardigans at Marks and Spencer are starting to look quite fashionable and Radio Four has started to broadcast some good plays in the evening.

However, all of this pales into insignificance when you consider that my Match.com profile is now reporting me as being the grand old age of 37 - making me even less attractive to the ladies in their early thirties than I apparently already am.

Right. You must excuse me – I need to go and put on my flame retardant suit. I have some candles on a birthday cake that need blowing out and they’ve already started to singe the wallpaper...