Ten days ago I looked at flights and did the maths twice, and both times it didn't work — I already used the leave for Christmas, and I'm not going to pretend that was the wrong call, it just means I'm not walking through the door on the day I actually wanted to. So this is instead: sixty years, and you've spent about forty-five of them making sure everyone else's birthday got remembered before yours did. Somebody is finally doing it back. Put the kettle on, sit down properly, and let Mum read you the rest of this out loud if your eyes are playing up again.
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