At some point, I'll stop hearing the siren call coming from my I-Pad, and get back to blogging in strength. That moment, though, is still like the vanishing point in a painting: visible...just, but only with massive effort. Squint and you'll see it, but that's it.

Two of my relatives have offered to hold a little get together to mark my birthday. It's a significant one. A milestone. And I'm really touched by this. Never had a birthday celebration in my life for one thing, but more than that, it's the gesture I appreciate.

It'll be a low key affair. A handful of friends, some finger food, a glass or two of wine, and interesting conversations. Low key suits me. I like to be in the back of the stalls, the spear-carrier waiting in the wings, not the lead figure. Too much attention ain't me. None of this P Diddy bling thing with thousands of alleged close friends turning up. Quality matters, babe...

Nevertheless, even the beigest of people like me for example, entertains that cheeky self-mythologising pipe dream where that's at least one fire engine, police car lights raking over houses in the dark, small hours, bemused neighbours in pyjamas peering through windows, or at open front doors, and there's someone, probably bare chested being led away in handcuffs. Now is that what we call party?