A very merry unbirthday (part 2)

In the end, birthday morning was great: Jack had not followed the rumtumtugger pattern to the letter, but had developed his own, which included scrambled egg bagels, and bucks fizz, and Haribo starmix. Excellent.

However – where was the post? I was expecting, in the absence of my parents, exciting parcels.

Sadly, it was not to be. We waited for the post. And waited. And waited. And I kept having conversations with parents and with both sisters where they said, “Has it arrived?” and I had to keep saying, “No.” and trying not to sound aggrieved. The BBC news later on told me that there had been ‘wildcat’ postal strikes in London. And yesterday they were still ongoing. And today they are about to seal up post boxes.

Obviously, as a solid-left-winger I have total solidarity with the workers. Obviously as an informed person I support any worker’s right to strike. Obviously as a twenty-five year old I know that birthdays are a nice tradition, but hardly the mainstay of one’s existence. And obviously as a grown-up I have progressed from the childhood when I was so excited about Christmas presents that one year that I actually started to cry in mid-December, wailing heartbrokenly that I just couldn’t wait and that it would never ever come.

Birthdays are not just about presents. I can wait until next week, or indeed the week after, without any detrimental effect to my quality of life….

….

So why do I still want to stamp my feet, throw all my toys out of the pram and shout, “Sod the working conditions and the pay, where are my presents?!!” Every time I see news bulletins about the strike I want to shout at the BBC newsreaders, “But it was my birthday! There’s been no post since my birthday! I don’t think you fully understand.”

I think that the idea of growing up is, at the end of the day, something of an illusion.

with love,

therumtumtugger

xxx