Am I, at Present, Dreaming of Birthdays?

Or will I, on my birthday, be dreaming of presents? What with the whole Buddhist-education-disguised-as-an-adventure-story thing, I thought I'd better keep my end up with a brain twister.

Last week, my flatmates disappeared and came back with a wrapped box, not bigger or smaller than but exactly the same size as a bread box and left it, in view, for me to wonder about. Grrrr.

Fortunately, I'm an old hand at working out presents by fondling them through the paper (ah, Christmas) and, then, Michael crumbled under stern questioning.

They're giving me a pony.

It has ribbons in its mane, and jewel-coloured hooves. Doesn't have a name yet. I enquired a few days ago as to whether it might be getting a bit hungry in the box, but Michael informed me gravely that it was a Vampire Pony, and every night, after we go to sleep, it leaves the box and flits around the house gaining appropriate sustenance.

I can't wait for my birthday.