Tuesday, my birthday. Of course I have breakfast and then attend a work shop on recovery and deliver my presentation. It goes okay. During the morning get lots of happy birthday messages, which is really nice. I gather together the various envelopes and parcels that I assume are for me and put them on the dining table for later. My niece visits and brings a card and a present from my partners brother and herself. We sit and chat for a while before she leaves to collect a prescription for her father. I clear things away and settle down to watch Wimbledon when my friend calls to wish me happy birthday, a lovely surprise. I am cooked a birthday steak meal with strawberries and cream followed by chocolate cake. Food over, we face time my youngest daughter and I open my presents and cards. I am very blessed with art materials, books, bath bombs, writing paper and a T shirt with a lovely moon pattern. I watch Italy beat Spain in the football semi final while eating birthday fudge. I settle down to read a letter that arrived to day and reenjoy my presents quietly on my own after everyone has gone to bed. I am 73, and this is my birthday; I have no idea how many more I will get, but if I want more I need to get back to training and looking after myself.