Another year older.
No not me, I've given up counting and anyway, I was never a great birthday person myself - always much more fun when other people are the centre of attention.
No, this was another year that had passed, the 11th, since I was sat in the high backed chair in the delivery suite at the local hospital catching flies as a result of the sheer exhaustion of the birth, No1 son across my chest hanging on grimly to my thumb lest I should wake with a start as though in front of Heartbeat on a Sunday night, and catapault him onto the battlefield that was the floor of our room.
Being 11, the call was no longer for Wacky Warehouse or Pirate Petes, but instead for Pizza Express "..because Laura from year 7 is having her party there and he wants to see Zoe" argued No1 son.
"I don't care if he wants to see Zoe - where do you want to go?"
"No, Pizza Express is cool"
Right.
So off we trooped. Into town, emptying the High Street as we went as five 11 year olds, new to the joys of Lynx, cleared a path through the early evening shoppers who recoiled in horror at the walking anthrax attack in their midsts. Scarfs clutched to faces, they scattered in all directions, "Run for your lives.." as the strange blue fog made its way to the restaurant.
The first and last mistake the restaurant made was putting us in the centre table.
"What credit crunch?" I thought to myself as we squeezed through the packed dining room.
Now I am from the school of thought that says as long as children are not offensive, or loud enough to spoil the enjoyment of others, they can do more or less what they like.
So we laughed when No1 mate went to take his first glug from his Appletise and it slipped through his grasp leaving him with an embarrassing wet patch across his lap. What would Zoe make of that?
That got a few disapproving looks from other diners but after all the fuss about coming here I thought it was really really funny!
We hooted when No 4 mate got a sneezing fit from sniffing the bottom of the pepper grinder. "Hey! I'm Eleven. Its my job!". Not sure whether it was our laughter or 5 boys enthusistically sniffing the bottom of the pepper grinder to see who could sneeze the most violently that got the disapproving looks this time.
We guffawed when No 2 mate bragged about eating American Hots on his recent trip to Florida only to scream in agony at his first bite on a proper UK chilli. Never mind, more Pizza for me!
But perhaps we over-stepped the mark with the toilets.
In between courses, boredom had set in so the boys had trooped off to the toilet together, only to re-appear very quickly.
"Oh my God! One of the toilets is blocked and the water is right on the brim and all the papers floating around."
"Well, come and sit down, puddings will be here in a second"
"But I'm really desperate"
"Ok, well YOU go, but the rest of you sit down. You can't ALL be desperate"
On reflection, the temptation was obviously going to be too great, probably even for me to resist. For in just a few moments a shock of blonde hair came bounding through the restaurant, asphyxiating with excitement. No1 son and his mates looked at each other for I'm sure they knew what was coming.
"THERE'S POO...........EVERYWHERE"
The lady of a certain age on the table next door looked across at us, then back down at her canneloni, probably wondering where her appetite had gone.
"I thought if I flushed it, I could make it all go. But it all came over the top like a waterfall."
I tried in vain, I really did, to bar the passage of the five boys who were dashing off to investigate this seismic event but in reality I knew it was a futile attempt.
This headlong dash through the restaurant prompted one or two concerned looks from other diners and very shortly they all came bounding back.
"He's right Dad. Theres poo....EVERYWHERE. And all the papers gone on the floor and the waters gone into the other cubicles and...and.."
"RIGHT EVERYONE. SIT DOWN"
At this point a swarthy chap in what looked like a chefs uniform came hurtling out of the kitchen carrying a bucket and a mop. Eeeuuuwww. I hope he wasn't the chef.
Then the cake appeared, the birthday song was sung, as only a bunch of 11 yr olds can...
Happy Birthday to you
Happy Birthday to you
You look like a monkey
And you smell like a poo.
Well, full marks for topicality
Then the candles were blown and we were outta there.
Lord knows what the school will make of the great poo incident when it makes its way through the classroom on Monday but we all agreed that, mainly thanks to the poo, it had been a memorable birthday.
Roll on next year!
