I'm delighted to see that in honour of my birthday, some 750,000 public sector employees are taking the day off. I admire their chutzpah, especially because my own celebrations are going to be quite modest. I hear they they are going to be marching and waving banners. I'm deeply honoured, and as far as I know from studying 'This Day In History' this will be the most significant event ever on June 30th. Some, of course, are a little embarrassed by their support for me, so will be claiming that it's all about their protecting wildly extravagant pensions which will bankrupt us all before we know it. But I know the truth and am touched. I mention my birthday only in passing, and don't feel obliged to send me birthday greetings on Thursday. Between 9 and 12.
Back in history, on Sunday we went off to see Elton John. A five minute walk from the flat to the Sussex County Cricket ground. We awoke to a sea fog which enveloped the city, lifted, then enveloped it again, before burning off to allow us to sit in the scorching sun getting bronzed (red). Reg played a cracking set of two and a half hours seemingly enjoying himself immensely, as did The Cat's Mother and I. The offspring, however, realising this was not in fact a Bo Burnham gig didn't have much fun at all. It may have been that they were determined not to enjoy him, which was odd as they had duetted with 'Your Song' at UP's birthday bash in the early new year. At the end we followed the Yellow Brick Road home as we watched The Sun Go Down on me.
