Today is Friday the 13th. Many people expect bad things to happen, and they will be right, though all these bad 
things will be films called Friday the 13th Part Whatever, and will happen on every bloody TV channel everywhere.
The whole fuss just passes me by because my birthday is December 13th and in 1957 the 13th of December was a Friday. This has condemned me to a life of one joint present for my birthday and Christmas, but it has saved me from a life of superstition.
Once you’ve been born on Friday the 13th you can walk under any ladder you like. You can cross a black cat, step on cracks in the pavement or even open an umbrella indoors. You never have to touch wood, or see a pin and pick it up, or wear a rabbit’s foot (just how lucky was the rabbit, incidentally?).
You can, if you wish, break a mirror by hitting it with a magpie.
You’ll never win the Lottery, but then neither will most people born the day before.
Doe this apply to people who have lived in house number 13?
I think that arriving into this world on Friday 13th is way better than April 29th!
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I’m also “Born on the 13th” . . . and love Friday the 13th. And the number 13.
I look for lucky things today . . . not bad lucky, good lucky.
And I hadn’t even noticed until catching up here on 14th!