Happy Birthday!

Growing up, I was your run-of-the-mill nerd. I studied hard, I had big goofy hair – and best of all, I would fall flat on my face in front of the too-cool-for-school kids on, nearly, a daily basis. They weren’t the best of times; they were the worst of times. But over the years I learnt the invaluable lesson of hair-straightening, watched in delight as womanly bumps grew under my unflattering school jumper and decided that talking to boys was much more fun than reading books. I was growing ever so slightly *gulp* popular.

But despite my social circle growing in size, I lived in fear that one day they’d all realise my horrific secret that I was, and will always be, a geek. The anxiety that came with this secret was unbearable – I’d try to hide my clumsiness, naivety and forgetfulness by references to up-and-coming bands, and impressing my peers by being the youngest under-aged person to get served at the pub – but it was all destined to come out at some point. And one day it did. As I strutted down the corridor at sixth form, I towered over the tiny, insignificant year sevens as I made my way to the common room. (Which we all know is a haven of procrastination, slopping snogging and gossiping) But the carpet of our decaying suburban school had curled up around the edges and with my head stuck firmly in the clouds, I missed my footing and banged my head on the door frame. The illusion of superiority melted as the not-so-tiny young ‘uns pointed and laughed. But just as I felt my cheeks burn with embarrassment a warm friendly hand grabbed my shoulder. “That happens to me all the time too!” said my friend Michael, beaming from ear to ear. Then I realised I’d found my soul mates - my friends were geeks too.

And it’s not just about being clumsy – I am a nerd through and through. But worse still, I’m the not the clever, braniac type – I am from the no-common-sense variety. I watched my friends howl with laughter as I quite happily believed that there were no shadows in Spain because of “where it sits on the equator”. And I’ve been to Spain! And sat in the shade?! Over the years I’ve tried to turn these negative traits into some sort of quirky, loveable shape of a person – and for most of the time I get by, by the skin of my teeth – but there’s one thing that drives my loved ones mad with despair: I can’t remember dates. More importantly – I can remember anyone’s birthday.

The problem is that it’s hard not to take it personally when you get a phone call along the lines of “I think it’s your birthday today?!” three days after the big event, or when yet another belated birthday card lands on your doormat. But it’s never a sign of how much I care about the person, or how important celebrating the day of their birth is to me. Only that I am useless with dates. Outside of my family I can only remember two of my friend’s birthdays: Emma’s and Richard’s – 10th and 17th January respectively. These are engrained in my mind forever because of a drunken-giggly-teenage-conversation where we laughed at the thought of each set of parents having sex at the same time. Unfortunately this is the same picture my mind still conjures up, even years later, whenever I wish either of them happy birthday.

As I see 2009 a year for self improvement, I bought myself a diary. Not in the Bridget ‘big pants’ Jones sense, but in the practical ‘you’re not 19 forever, pull yourself together’ sense. But as I flicked though page after page of blank white space in my brand new pocket book I felt my heart sink. 2009 was empty. I had no plans. I started to panic. The year that I’d had such hope for after the sheer terribleness of 2008 was destined to be as empty as my bank account. Then I heard the best sound in the world ‘beep beep’ – ah ha! The sound of popularity! “Hiya,im of wrk frm da 22nd.. I kno ur prob wrking, bt I was wondering if I could cum visit?? Xx” It was from Gawain. Lovely Gawain! Brilliant Gawain! “Yes! Definitely! Come!” I replied. I stared at it. Hmm, maybe that sounds desperate? “Yes! Definitely! Come! I’ll check my diary to see when I’m free.” Much better. Having a diary was already working in my favour. Send. I flipped the page to 22nd February 2009 and proudly wrote “Gawain visits Bath”. Fabulous.

A couple of days later, the awesome power of the diary strikes again while I was talking to my ex-flatmate Adam. “I’m going to come up and visit you. Maybe at the end of May?” I say loosely, but with every intention of setting a date. “That’s too far away. How does the 7th March sound?” I looked at the diary. The empty entry looked sad and lonely. But not for long; “Visit Adam in Derby”. Then I remember the very reason I bought a diary in the first place...

“Dear Friends. I have bought a diary to save me from myself. Please can I have your birthday so that I NEVER EVER forget it again?”

The response I got back was mixed. From Ashley “you should know this woman!”. From Mark “here is also my account number and mother’s maiden name”. And rather confusingly from Andrew, “February 31st”. Now as I flip through the pages of my Paperchase diary, and see my barely comprehensible handwriting scrawled across the dates I’m happy in the knowledge that for the first time I feel like my year has some direction. I’m seeing friends I haven’t seen for months, reuniting with old flatmates and travelling up and down the country. I just hope this level of active “doingness” continues all year round.

So, dear friends – do you fancy a pint sometime? Give me a call! I'll just check my diary.