Thursday, 1 September 1994 Dear Sis, How’s the birthday girl? Mum tells me you’re jetting off to Spain for an el cheapo face lift to halt the inevitable march of Father Time. How old are you now anyway? It doesn’t matter, you being five years older than me and all. I would gladly give the flower of my youth in exchange for all the arcane … Continue reading My social life is about as exciting as a Methodist cake-stall.