“Rule Forty-two. All persons more than a mile high to leave the court.”
Everybody looked at Alice.
“I”m not a mile high,” said Alice.
“You are,” said the King.
“Nearly two miles high,” added the Queen.
“Well, I shan’t go, at any rate,” said Alice: “besides, that’s not a regular rule: you invented it just now.”
“It’s the oldest rule in the book,” said the King.
“Then it ought to be Number One,” said Alice.
So far it’s been a nice day, with lots of people wishing me happy birthday from midnight last night (including a rather lovely thing from Jono). I got a cool shirt off mum and dad, which I shall be wearing for this evening’s venture to Ghetto Golf, a sort of weird crazy golf place which is all neon and skulls and graffiti, with cocktails.
Dinner with Niamh this afternoon, too, which is cool. I’m still as worried about the future and the world as I was this time last year, but I can have a day off for my birthday. And I have friends. This helps. So I can do nice things; write some code, maybe publish the talk I did at Hackference, solve a problem or two. Eat biscuits. You know. Nice things. No ironing.
Many happy returns, me.