Chapter Fifty Three - "A Random Birthday"

Having just waved goodbye to my dear friend Mark at the station, I felt it worthwhile to record an account of what happened on my (our) birthday on Tuesday, as it is still strong in my mind. You currently find me in my room in London, listening to a jazz CD (a birthday present), as I think back over the recent celebrations.

Tuesday morning started much like any other day, except that I didn’t have to leave early for work, having decided to take the rest of the week off on holiday – last year I got some strange looks in the department when they discovered I was working on my birthday. Graciously, last year, they allowed me a half day, before I celebrated properly in the evening with a movie and pizza, both on my own. Disappointingly, I was denied my birthday offer of a bottle of champagne from Pizza Express, as I was dining alone. The birthday offer was only allowed with a purchase of two main meals; despite my offer to order twice. I enjoyed the pizza, but felt somewhat despondent, wishing I had a friend to share the moment with.

So this year I was determined to make this year’s celebrations more enjoyable and sociable, and this was practically guaranteed as Mark was visiting from Devon for four days, and we had arranged to see a show and explore London during his stay. It would be the first time we had celebrated a birthday together on the actual day, since our school years; a lovely treat. As I was awaiting my guest’s arrival just after one, I decided to save the opening of my presents and cards until we were together. I had Christmas and birthday presents to give Mark as well, so the unwrapping wasn’t to be a one-sided affair.

Having slightly misjudged the time that Mark was to arrive at the station, I rushed out to meet him at one o’clock. Upon reaching the station I found Mark by the ticket barriers and gave a friendly wave. Following a smile and a return gesture of acknowledgement, he proceeded to put his ticket in the barrier to exit the station. However, for some unknown reason this proved unsuccessful and he remained unable to exit. Then an ingenious thought occurred to me – I could use my own travel card to open the barrier from my side, allowing him to exit. I proceeded with this plan and Mark walked through. The barrier, it seemed, was thoroughly confused by this course of events, expecting a commuter to be passing through in the opposite direction, and resultantly stayed open for about twenty seconds before thinking better of the situation and returning to its default position.

“Remember your double-A batteries”, I exclaimed to Mark as we were leaving the station. I looked around the forecourt, in the direction of the WHSmith, but found myself staring at a new dry-cleaner’s/sushi store – I can’t remember which. Either way, I figured we’d be paying the mini-Tesco a quick visit. I entered with the sole purpose of buying the batteries and the latest edition of the New Scientist magazine. At the checkout I paid and was handed my magazine, with the two packs of AA batteries balanced on top. As I proceeded to take these away the batteries slid off the magazine, and in my haste to rectify the situation and regain balance of my goods, they flew into the air, and one pack landed down the side of the basket area, next to the till. The man behind me in the queue offered to help, but I was just able to retrieve the batteries by squeezing my fingers into the gap, and walked out of the shop as nonchalantly as possible. At this, Mark remarked that shopping with me was never dull, and on this occasion I had to agree. As we walked back to the house, Mark told me how he had only narrowly caught his train to London, having missed it at Exeter St David’s due to bad traffic. It was a relief to have finally reached his destination, even if his companion for the week was proving to be rather inept at handling shopping, and proficient in confusing ticket barriers.

At the house, Mark dropped his bags off in the lounge, and I nipped upstairs to get his presents. I also brought down a present from my parents that had recently been delivered. This was something of a curiosity, however, as the label clearly implied the source to be a luggage company, yet Mum had recently asked after my chest size and arm measurements. Was this a ‘bag-jumper’ (or a jumper-bag’)? To keep the suspense for a while longer, I saved this package until last. I wished Mark a happy birthday again, and he returned the favour (so strange to have it said back to you), and Mark opened his gifts from me – a new book of riddles, a book of humorous quotes from Prince Philip (both belated Christmas presents), and the first three seasons of Sherlock (for his birthday – the third season had been an accidental Christmas present to me from my parents, the second Christmas running in fact, and so I had tracked down the first two seasons and packaged them all up together). My gifts included three books from Mark (a murder mystery, cryptic crosswords and ‘Just A Minute’ book); a George Shearing jazz album box set (which is playing at the moment) and a book by R. F. Delderfield, from my uncle and aunt; and – drum roll – a wheelie suitcase from my parents, perfect for my upcoming university trip to Canterbury. I can only think that the jumper must still be in transit. I also received numerous greetings cards. Curiously Mum had written ‘Happy 28^th birthday’, seemingly getting my age wrong, confirming my suspicion that my birthdays were never to be straightforward again – this wouldn't have been a surprise, having previously celebrated by 21^st birthday before my 18^th, and being wished a happy birthday on two separate days in the same year. After a phone call, it transpired that Mum was evidently in a jovial mood, wishing me a happy start to my 28^th year. I felt old.

After the exchange of presents, Mark wanted to pump up his airbed to save time later. This simple task was complicated by the loss of a small plastic nozzle which would connect the pump to the mattress. Resultantly we had to find a makeshift replacement, and dismantled many pens in the process. However, even with a makeshift nozzle in place, pumping the airbed wasn’t proving very efficient, as air was escaping and the plastic airbed valve wasn’t opening fully, making the process very tiresome. We concluded that we would tackle the problem afresh after a walk and a trip to the supermarket for food supplies.

After a pleasant stroll down by the river, we popped into Sainsbury’s. At the till I asked for an extra carrier bag (bags for life, ten pence each), and on prompting by the cashier proceeded to pay the additional charge with a fifty pence piece. The lady handed me my change and moved on to the next customer. I looked at the ten pence in my hand, thought for a moment, and then turned back and inquired after the correct change. In a rather roundabout way, I was given two twenties in return for the ten pence. During all this, Mark had found himself unable to assist, being on the wrong side of a self-closing door. Again, never a dull moment.

Back at the house we returned to the airbed conundrum. Wracking our brains, I suggested using a bicycle pump, and went out to the shed to see what I could find. We settled on one with a large plunging lever, but there was no nozzle attached. Remembering the versatility of plastic pen sheaths from TV medical dramas such as Diagnosis Murder, Mark dismantled another pen and with copious amounts of sellotape affixed the plastic tubing to the pump, wedging the nib-end in the airbed hole. As we pumped, we realised our improvised solution was working (and Mark proceeded to take an ‘airbed selfie’), and after not too long we had a properly functioning mattress.

The evening ended with a fish and chip dinner, whilst watching the film version of ‘A Town Called Panic’, the French animation on which the subsequent Cravendale adverts were based. The storyline involved a cowboy, Indian, horse, bricks, an underwater parallel universe, and a mechanical penguin run by scientists bent on taking over the world via the use of giant snowballs. It helped not to think too seriously about it, though I wondered if it might have made more sense if I had consumed a few beers beforehand. I only hoped we wouldn’t get nightmares.

After a bit of late night computer gaming we decided to call it a day. The birthday celebrations would continue over the next few days with a trip to the British Museum and our planned show at the Comedy Store (both on Wednesday), and a slightly lazier day on Thursday, staying at the house before heading to Teddington for dinner at Nando’s (during which I dramatically spilled my drink and smashed the glass, being asked repeatedly "Are you quite sure you're alright?" by our server, and almost being forced to end the odd experience with a strange handshake of reassurance) before our church’s weekly Costa event. In all, an eventful, albeit slightly random start to an exciting week, and certainly worth remembering, if only for the escapade with the airbed.