So I turn 40 today. Yay.
I've discovered, after an extensive 35 seconds on wikipedia, that my birthday is the official feast day of Saint Constabilis (patron saint of Castellabate - which looks like a lovely town). Significant only really because that's my last name (no, not Saint - that would be much cooler). But hey, anything to distract me from the terrible aging process. Oh my joints...
Saints seem to get a pretty raw deal in my opinion - they're supposed to come back from heaven and do miracles yeah? That's pretty much the main criteria. Which seems like a bit of a rip off - after having spent your whole life being holy and pious and abstentious and shit you still have to come back and help out even when you're dead. When do you get to put your feet up?
Ramble ramble.. I'm practicing for being old and senile.
Get off my lawn!