My birthday meat pie, made by the Everloving. It was perfect!
Fifty years ago today, the very first connection was made on Arpanet, the precursor to the internet:
That was on my 20th birthday, I was in Yugoslavia, working on a contract, oblivious to that particular history being made. I probably got drunk on bottled beer and slivovic that night but, luckily, there were no smart phones with cameras then to capture me at my worst.
I remember 1969 being a swell year, and I am glad to share it with the internet,
Today I am seventy years old.
Just saying that feels unreal. When I was born in 1949, average life expectancy for a man in the UK was about 65 years; I have somehow managed to beat that.
I am part of the generation that didn’t trust anyone over thirty, and who made terribly dangerous choices on a regular basis throughout their thirties and forties. By the 1990s, what with all the drugs and the booze and the carousing, I was certain I couldn’t possibly reach fifty, and I wasn’t all that sure I wanted to.
Now, I have kids in their late forties, grand-children in their mid-twenties, and I am sure that great-grand-children can’t be far away.
The fact that I am still here, walking and talking and pretending (to myself at least) to be young, is astonishing, a wonder, a miracle of modern medicine, and a tribute to the Everloving who takes such good care of me.
My future keeps catching up to my present and I hope it keeps doing so for a long time. After all, I have promised myself my first ever Big Mac on my one hundredth birthday!