Rubber band

So… another year in the can. Lots of people seemed keen to talk to me about my birthday at the office today: I suppose it makes a change from an otherwise routine Wednesday! The afternoon was given a little bolt of electricity by a latebreaking story. When that happens the keenly honed journo instincts kick in, your concentration narrows, the world gets tuned out and you zoom towards the deadline like a guided missile.
On the way home I dropped in to see my old Mum. She was in a very reminiscey mood and we revisited a few old stories, all recalled with an impressive level of clarity: her time as a fashion model in the 1950s; she and my Dad visiting an all-black jazz club in 1960s San Francisco; my stay in a children's hospital as an underweight four-year-old after developing serious adenoidal problems (couldn't breathe properly!). I have hazy recollections of the last event - watching my Mum arrive from the balcony, playing in the garden, someone half-inching my lollipop...