Happy birthday to my mum.

It's my dear mother's birthday today. Happy birthday, Mum.

I think it would be imprudent to tell you SHE'S 50, WTF how old she is, because a lady's age is her own counsel, or something like that. Actually she's terribly young, which is nice for her because now she's manage to divest herself of children and other hangers-on she has a bit of freedom to do some of the things she never has.

This is the scenario that sees my parents on holiday to Egypt this week, presumably to get away from it all and relax a bit. Luckily they weren't anywhere near the location of the horrific balloon crash in Luxor the other day.

No, they're tucked safely up in the north-east, just where rockets have been fired at Israel for the first time since last December. I presume the all-inclusive hotel includes a bomb shelter with constantly refreshed fruit buffet and soft drinks.

Actually, the whole thing might be part of the activity programme: 'Sporting activities include mountain biking, wakeboarding and firing missiles at the kafir shitfaces over the border. Ask please at the front desk for details.'

None of which is to take away from the fact that my mum spent her birthday sunning herself on a beach in the (near the) Mediterranean while I hunkered down at my desk and typed stuff in fingerless gloves. Here's to a great year, ma.