There are many cultures that have the tradition of giving someone else a gift to celebrate your own birthday.
Because this is my very special one, I would like to follow Lolo's example and send a copy of this book to the first 5 people who are interested, and of course one to you as well, Lolo. (And one to Juliet's mum as promised too.)
Quite a while back, someone who was commenting on my blog, upon learning that I was turning 60, recommended it to me. I can't remember who it was, would have to look back at all my posts to find out. Thanks whoever you are.
I found the book at the airport (on the way to Oz) and read it while there (many enjoyable rainy days)....and chuckled all the way through it.....
Here's the first paragraph to whet your appetite/s:
October 3
Ok. This is it. About fifty years too late, but better late than never. A diary. I know it's not January 1st, or even November 1st, but there is no time like the present. Don't we always say to ourselves:' If only I'd written a diary when I was twenty? Or thirty? Or forty?' But in my sixtieth year (or fifty-ninth to be precise - or, oh God, maybe it is my sixtieth year - I remember some tedious man explaining to me recently how even though I'm fifty- nine, I'm actually in my sixtieth year, totally incomprehensible, but I finally gave in), anyway in whatever year it is, I, Marie Sharp, retired art teacher, divorced. one son, one cat and resolutely single after about one million failed relationships, am determined to give it a final crack. A diary, that is. Not a relationship. Oh dear me no.
Hurry hurry hurry, the offer won't last.........grin
Scott has drawn my hands for IF: Blanket. 
