My mother is thirty-eight today. I bought her a card which said ‘Happy 18^th Birthday’, but, I cunningly changed the number one into a three by the use of Tipp-Ex and dried lentils. So it read ‘Happy 38^th Birthday!’ Unfortunately, the verse on the inside didn’t match my mother’s lifestyle much.

A-tremble on the edge of life,

One day to be a mum and wife.

But now it’s discos fun and laughter:

Why should you care what’s coming after?

The picture on the front was of a teenage girl going made to records coming out of a record player. On reflection, I think it was a bad choice of card. I wish I wasn’t an impulse buyer. Her present was some underarm hair remover. I noticed that the stuff she usually uses had run out.

My father sent a card picturing a sad cat. He had written inside ‘Yours as ever, George.’ That stinking rat Lucas sent a card from Sheffield. It was in a box and had a cartoon mouse on the front eating a piece of cheese (Edam I think). Inside Lucas had written: ‘Pauline, I’ll never forget that night in the pinewoods. Yours with undying love, Bimbo.’

She had ten other cards, all from women and all with pictures of flowers on the front. I don’t know why women are so mad about flowers. Personally they leave me cold. I prefer trees.