On behalf of Tinson1, who knows nothing about yesterday’s post (and especially about the photograph), thank you all for your kind wishes for his birthday.
To reply to some of your comments: yes, I am a teenage boy, at least mentally, since I feel that I have never grown up; yes, he does indeed look like me, though by now has grown far more handsome (and irritatingly taller); and Grannymar, I’m sure he would dance like me if he had a partner as graceful as you to dance with.
And Laughykate asks how many birthday posts have we had now. I reckon I’ve now done four for Tinson1 and three each for the other two (I have also done four for Mrs Tin, but since she frowns upon me writing about her they tend just to say “Happy Birthday Mrs Tin”).
And that’s what I’d like to address today. When you get into long-term blogging you find that the same dates and events come around year after year, although I do realise that this is true whether you blog or not. When a Tinkid’s birthday comes along, how do I find a new way to record my love and pride? Yesterday morning I had no idea what I was going to write to celebrate the day, the post just took shape as the day went on. Tingirl’s birthday is three weeks from today and already I’m worrying that I’ll have nothing adequate to say about how I feel about her.
And it’s not just the Tinkids’ birthdays. On each of the last three Christmas Days I’ve posted a story (not written that day, obviously, even I have a life). I’ve written about the shepherds, about the three wise men and about Mrs Claus and I am conscious of the fact that I’m running out of dramatis personae (look, I have Latin in my blog, it’s like Ulysses but with fewer jokes).
It’s the same with St Patrick’s Day, three different stories in three years, with an even smaller potential cast of characters to pick something for next year from.
Sometimes I think about something that I have said and I am not sure if I have said it here, or just in a conversation in the pub. Have I ever mentioned here, for example, that I have a pacemaker, or that I recently passed my first-aid exam?
I have written before (and I am aware of how increasingly often I am using that phrase) about how I was going to write once about dwarf-throwing contests in the States, decided that I’d better check to make sure that they really do exist, found a reference on Google, clicked into it and found that it was a comment that I’d made on someone else’s blog to the effect that they have dwarf-throwing contests in the States.
And I will finish with a confession. I recently discovered, while looking back through old posts to find something, that I have told the same story twice. Once was a few months ago, the other time a couple of years ago, though I’m not going to say what it was.
Just six days ago (this post is starting to read like The Time Traveller’s Wife) I mentioned the older guys in our pub, telling the same stories over and over again. That’s me now – the internet version of an old-timer on a bar-stool.