I was going to mention this on Monday, but to be honest I couldn't build up the motivation for anything at the start of the week (a self-fulfilling statement?)

I have the misfortune to celebrate my birthday on what is the (unofficial) most depressing day of the year according to my scientific guess work. A combination of pre-Christmas-stress-induced blues, poor weather and airbourne infections combine to create a general air of despair that peaks on the day I would want everyone to be in a party mood with me.

In short, no one gives a shit about my birthday because they're all distracted by their own Christmas doldrums.

As a kid I would have vehemently disagreed with this statement. Mainly because it was my birthday, which created a hype and hysteria all of its own. As I've grown older birthdays have come to mean less and less. Whereas birthdays used to occupy a permanent part of your consciousness as they approached, this year, in the run up to my 20th birthday, I frequently forgot that is was coming.

As a child, birthdays would explode like a firework as I leaped out of bed and ran into my Mum & Dad's room eager to find out how many present I had got and what they were. As an adult, the latent expectation of my inner child often bursts with the soft 'phut' of a damp squib as presents are now numbered in single figures and arrive over several weeks.

I'm not saying I haven't had some excellent presents in recent years (Sharon is very good at remembering stuff I have coveted then forgotten - excellent surprise present material). It just doesn't seem to have the sense of occasion or celebration that it did 10, 15 years ago.

Maybe I should have an equation of my own adding another factor B to make B(1/8W+(D-d) 3/8xTQ MxNA) where B is the disappointment and depression caused by becoming yet another year older divided by the sense of occasion that you may or may not manage to create in your birthday celebrations.