My sister-in-law was born on the 25th of December and I’m sure that it is sometimes hard for her to live with. However much she is loved (and she is) she cannot actually claim her birthday as her own. Somebody, with a somewhat wider sphere of influence, had it first. Let’s face it, there are plenty of people to say, ‘Oh, you were born on Christmas Day. Do you just get one present?’ but I suspect far fewer to say, ‘25th December? Really? Did you realise that Jesus shares your birthday?’ It must shape you. Imagine, for instance, the difference between being born on September 10th 2001 and being born one day later. Imagine the difference between being born on the day that Mandela died and the day that Hitler died. Imagine the difference between being born on Thursday the twelfth and Friday the thirteenth. Birthdays must shape lives.
So I checked out my birthday and I find out that the USSR launched a rocket on that day (Luna 1) which missed the Moon by 3,725 miles and ended up orbiting the Sun, and an Indian Cricketer (Kirti Azad) who played a grand total of Seven Tests was born – I’ve never heard of him, but that’s ok, I’m sure he’s never heard of me. In a wide, wide world of events, all other incidents took the day off. So now you know why I have become what I have become…
My playlist plodders today almost made the slightly longer run worthwhile:
Cocaine – Eric Clapton
Personal Jesus – Depeche Mode
Don’t Come Back – Wishbone Ash
Heroes – Bowie
Don’t Fear the Reaper – Blue Oyster Cult
Everlong – Foo Fighters
Black Dog – Led Zeppelin
Voodoo Chile (Slight Return) – Jimi Hendrix
Back in the Doghouse – Seasick Steve (Frustratingly cut short by untimely death of phone)
I’m not sure what’s left in the playlist before it starts again, but I’ll let you know…
The previous instalment of the running diary ‘The Running Man and his Playlist’ is here.
The next instalment of the running diary ‘The Running Man and Dentistry’ is here.
The first instalment of the running diary ‘Couch to 5k’ is here.