Happy birthday, Fat Roland (i.e. me)

It's my birthday, so I'm going to write a blog post about absolutely nothing at all, and you're going to read every word and be thankful for it.

I share my birthday with Howard Marks who wrote Mr Nice, the book that Jez is perpetually reading in Peep Show. I also share a birthday with Fidel Castro. I think this means I probably should be arrested for peddling all sorts of naughty substances.

I share a birth date with Alfred Hitchcock. Very pleased with that one. Also with Feargal Sharkey. A bit indifferent to that one. And also with singer-songwriter James Morrison. Crikes, this is getting duller with every sentence.

I am exactly the same age as someone called Eric Medlen, a Californian racing driver who was fairly decent at drag cars. He was also, according to Wikipedia, a champion calf roper. I reckon I could loop a string around a bullock. Dead easy.

My birth date is shared also with Stuart Maconie, he of Radcliffe and Maconie fame, and author of Pies And Prejudice, The Pie At Night and also some non-pie related titles. It's a special delight to share a candles day with another music journalist, so many happy returns to Stuart.

All of which is meaningless, of course. I have no time for astrology, even though I have the best star sign (the one with the lion). Apparently the constellation Leo is something to do with a mythological Greek lion called Nemean that had fur made of solid gold and a brother that was a dragon. Which is true for me too, which is nice.

I should finish with some wisdom, gained from my many years on planet Earth. Um. Don't be an idiot. Be nice to vulnerable people. Fight the fascists. Don't eat more than 12 eggs a day. Be kind to yourself. Embrace every moment, or don't if you need to chill out instead. Always eat more than 12 eggs a day.