Those who know and have attacked me, will know that tomorrow is the anniversary of my birth, born to a couple of virgins on the side of a road, to the rear of a Porta-Cabin adorned with a proliferation of wild fern in North Leicester, which is firmly embedded in my culture today. In fact if I thought I could write a paragraph concerning the accident or   planned occupation of my birth then I would, but I’ve got birthdays to be had, the first birthday I wont be spending with my daughter who shares the same day, and so I could probably say that the average age of this Fat Dad’s Daughter, when she left him to skive off to Uni, was 19, n-n-n-n-n 19. 

Night folks, next time you bump into me i’ll be 51, which means you can obviously buy me a pint