Happy Birthday, my bastard boyfriend.

This is how I described you in 2005:
“My Boyfriend: Is imaginary, as you may well have noticed. Refers to Colin Farrell. He lives with me and is responsible for the lack of noodles and lack of money. Also accused (sometimes wrongly) of spreading ashes from fags all over my living room. He is also the father of my unborn baby boy, Fokker, who is in a constant state of first trimester. My Boyfriend is sometimes referred to as Colin, Col, Mr Farrell or Fokker’s Dad. Very rarely referred to as ‘that selfish bastard boyfriend of mine’. “

I’ve forgotten, since days seem to just fly past me. But this is so me, always a day late, a dollar short.

Happy belated birthday, you pompous egomaniac you. I love you.