You care for nothing but shooting, dogs, and rat-catching, and you will be a disgrace to yourself and your family.
Robert Darwin to his son Charles
There were several years I refused to acknowledge January 7 (or by extension the entire month) whatsoever, and it became my Not Birthday, recognized only by demand of friends and relations, but always with a certain level of fury.
I was really angry and sad – about everything, nothing, whatever. This sort of thing tends to happen when you are diagnosed with terminal cancer as you turn twelve… adolescent anxiety gets all mixed up with survival, and who needs that kind of anniversary looming in the darkest part of the winter?
Not me. However, now? This year?
For whatever reason, I honestly don’t care!
Though this means that there will be no party, in case you are one of the friends who would normally expect an invitation.
Instead, Saturday started at the British Library, where a display about Darwin helpfully included the fact that his father was strenuously opposed to him joining the Beagle expedition, and also thought he was something of a loser in general.
Oh, families!
The main attraction though was an excellent exhibit called Taking Liberties. Highly recommended (even for kids, though they should be over age ten and/or twitchy eccentrics like the fruit of my loins), and not just because they have an original Magna Carta on display.
Oh no – there is way more – including real recognition of radical history and the long bloody fight to achieve what nominal rights we currently have. Particularly the NHS, seen appropriately as a redistribution of wealth and a basic human right. One of the main people behind it said, essentially, private insurance is a scam, and there is no room for notions of profit in health care. Yes!
I don’t even need to remind you that childhood mortality improved by some startling statistic like thirty percent in the first ten years of the program, right?
Then onward to find lunch in a city partially closed for the holiday season – one awesome if frustrating thing about the UK in winter – and off to the Southbank Centre, because I asked for a BFI membership for my Sad Winter Birthday (TM).
We were there to watch Casablanca on a big grand screen, and gee whiz, the movie really does shine when viewed as it was meant to be seen.
On the way out we stopped to ride a carousel on the banks of the Thames with a view of Big Ben, the Shell Tower, and the Eye of London. My horse was named Kevin.
As the hours passed my evening plans unraveled, as they always do, so I dragged my kid across town to eat pho and salad rolls before grabbing an early train back to Cambridge.
The putative birthday does not strike until later in the week, but I’ve already had a fantastic time!
