The Ealing Escape
My "pre-birthday" was a bank holiday, so I avoided the crowds. I had no desire to join the masses desperate to do something "valuable" with their time, so I opted for an Ealing Comedy marathon instead: The Titfield Thunderbolt, Whisky Galore!, The Man in the White Suit, and Passport to Pimlico.
Reflection & Battenberg
My birthday actual began with quiet reflection, shared only with Magnus. I spent some time contemplating age, life, and the inevitable plummet towards death. That isn't me being morbid; it’s just being realistic. To be honest, it didn't quite feel like a birthday until Mum and Dad popped over, followed by my eldest. Later, Morticia and I headed down to the Riverside pub for tea. Between the gifts and the well-wishes, it turned out to be a thoroughly good day.
The Joint Celebration
The next day was Morticia’s turn to celebrate. As we have done many times before, we combined our celebrations with a special trip, beginning with a short six-mile bus ride into Sheffield city centre.
We don’t get into town often, so we took the opportunity to explore the city of my birth. There has been an immense amount of regeneration recently, and we wanted to see the changes firsthand. One such project is the renovation of Leah’s Yard—a collection of 19th-century industrial workshops that has been beautifully restored to house independent shops, makers, and creatives.
Food was always a priority, so we headed to the Cambridge Street Collective. We first visited this food hall a couple of years ago and were impressed then by the variety and the relaxed atmosphere. This time didn’t disappoint, even if it was fairly quiet. The food was stunning; Morticia opted for Greek, while I went for a brisket burger.
As it neared time for the main event, we took a stroll through the new Pounds Park. I had to snap a photo of a Pete McKee mural for my blogger friend, Debra; McKee is a celebrated local artist whose work perfectly captures the essence of Northern life. The splodge isn't part of the original work and no one knows where it came from.
A Night at the Lyceum
Then, the main event: a trip to the Lyceum Theatre. I love the Lyceum; it is a true jewel in the city’s crown. A stunning Grade II listed Edwardian venue, it has an amazing history of survival against the odds. It sits proudly next to its younger, perhaps more famous sibling, The Crucible, which had only just finished hosting the World Snooker Championships.
Our entertainment for the evening was John le Carré’s The Spy Who Came In from the Cold, starring Ralf Little. Many will know him from Death in Paradise, Two Pints of Lager, or The Royle Family, but this role was a complete departure for him.
The performance was brilliant. Little was superb as Alec Leamas, the British intelligence officer caught in a web of counter-espionage and lies. The ensemble cast really shone, delivering a tense, well-paced thriller that perfectly captured the mood of the 1960s Cold War. You would think I’d have read le Carré’s work before, given how many spy and detective thrillers I’ve devoured over the years, but for some reason, I never have. I’ll likely rectify that after tonight.
A Final Surprise
Then came the added bonus. While waiting for our bus on Arundel Gate, directly behind the theatre, we came across the star of the show himself.
Ralf Little took a moment to greet us and was happy to have a photo taken—a fantastic birthday treat for both of us.
Looking back at the quiet, slightly morbid reflection of my birthday morning, I realise that these few days were the perfect antidote to those heavy thoughts; the "plummet" feels much further off than it did at sunrise on day one.
The "festivities" are concluded. The beer has been drunk and cake has been eaten, the spy has gone back into the cold, and the bus eventually turned up. I may be a year closer to the end, but at least I’ve got a photo with Ralf Little and a rested pair of legs to show for it.
Back to the real world tomorrow, but for today, I’ll just enjoy the lingering taste of almond sponge and the quiet of a house that’s seen a very successful birthday. Until the next one.
The spirit of the Urban Viking—and the occasional absurdity of navigating the modern world—lives on in my webcomic, Northman. 
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𝖂𝖊𝖑𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖊, 𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖛𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖊𝖗.
ʟᴇᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ, ꜱʜᴀʀᴇ ᴀ ᴛᴀʟᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴊᴏɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅɪꜱᴄᴜꜱꜱɪᴏɴ. ʟɪᴠᴇʟʏ ʙᴜᴛ ʀᴇꜱᴘᴇᴄᴛꜰᴜʟ ᴅᴇʙᴀᴛᴇ ɪꜱ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴡᴇʟᴄᴏᴍᴇ ɪɴ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʜᴀʟʟ — ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴏᴅꜱ ᴛʜᴇᴍꜱᴇʟᴠᴇꜱ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴀ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀ ꜱʜᴀʀᴘ ᴍɪɴᴅ.
ʙᴜᴛ ᴍɪɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴍᴀɴɴᴇʀꜱ: ᴀʙᴜꜱᴇ, ʀᴜᴅᴇɴᴇꜱꜱ, ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴘᴀᴍ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ꜱᴡɪꜰᴛʟʏ ᴄᴀꜱᴛ ᴏᴜᴛ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏʟᴅ, ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴀᴠᴇɴꜱ ᴡɪʟʟ ɪɢɴᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴍ.
ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ᴡɪꜱʜ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛ, ᴀ ꜱɪᴍᴘʟᴇ ᴇᴍᴏᴊɪ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴅᴏ — ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴀ ꜱɪʟᴇɴᴛ ɴᴏᴅ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇɴᴄʜᴇꜱ ɪꜱ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴀᴛᴇᴅ.
ɴᴏᴡ, ᴡᴀʀᴍ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱᴇʟꜰ ʙʏ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰɪʀᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴘᴇᴀᴋ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡɪꜱʜ.