"Even if I got rid of all my problems, I'd just go out and get new ones..."

My birthday! No crying but a lot of smiling.
8:54 p.m. on 2004-03-28

Have you ever had a genuinely perfect day?

I mean, really, from the moment you wake up in the morning to the moment you go to sleep. Perfect.

Saturday morning I woke up, got showered and dressed without for once being in a rush, and left the house looking, I might say, fabulous in my new jacket that's covered in griffins.

Yes, okay, so it took Claire prodding at me and going "They're griffins!" before I thought the velvet was anything other than a pretty psychedelic pattern, but hey, griffins!

Waiting at the bus stop, a sixteen (ish) year old boy asked me whether a bus had just gone past, and then got into a vague conversation with me, with him admitting he knew me from seeing me get the bus every morning. He was off to his new job at Burger King, but he was nervous because he doesn't like big crowds.

I found that oddly endearing. Most sixteen year old boys in my area intimidate the life out of me (too many flashbacks to high school), but he was rather sweet.

His bus came, and I was left alone bouncing along to Jill Sobule on my headphones, when an elderly lady then engaged me in a conversation about "Children these days and the way they continue to abuse the bus stop."

Old people like me. Don't ask me why, maybe they find me inoffensive and polite. If only they knew.

Headed off on the bus to arrive - only a few minutes late, woo! - to meet up with The Girls, plus honorary Girls Phil and Craig. Headed off to Manchester Science and Industry museum, which is quite simply the best free museum anywhere.

It's lack of price may have something to do with the fact that the exhibits haven't changed since I was last there as a Brownie... but hey, that's only a good thing!

Rushed up to the Xperiment floor (y'see what they did there? With the X? It's hip and groovy, doncha know) and proceeded to play around with all the supposedly 'educational' toys. Bubbles, big balls of marble, bouncy balls, and endless puzzles which we had to literally drag Hayley away from.

Most amusing moment has to be awarded to Phil however. Y'see, one of the puzzles involves a wooden box in the shape of a semicircle, with two red balls inside. At either end of the semicircle is a hole just big enough for one of the balls to rest in. The aim is to get one ball in each hole at the same time - a tricky task, since as soon as you've fitting one ball in one hole, you tip it slightly and it falls out before you can fill the other hole.

Phil was playing this for quite a while, using all sorts of logic and physics, but ultimately failed. Whereupon a five year old wandered up to it, gave the box a spin, the two balls hurtling into their respective holes neatly.

Heh heh. Okay, so I didn't work it out either, but at least I didn't get caught out by a toddler.

After a brief gaze out of the window into Coronation Street (Granada are located just next door to the museum) and the sight of Dev trying rather obviously to pull two women ("Come 'ere, I'll show you the corner shop, this is where Derek died, and hey, let us kiss with tonges...") we left Xperiment for the marginally more serious arena of Manchester's social history.

Poor Phil. He was trying to read all the no doubt interesting writing whilst all we wanted to do was walk through the fake sewer (complete with real life smell!) and go "ewww!" at various old fashioned toilets.

A quick trip round the trains, and a not-so-quick trip round the planes and we were done. Well... Hayley, Claire and I did take a trip in the Stimulator.

I mean, Simulator. I do. Ahem. Freudian slip.

We also considered putting out a call for Phil when he failed to turn up to our meeting spot after half an hour. "Attention, there is a missing child in the museum. Not that tall 21 year old with hobo facial hair and glasses, possibly to be found mocking the Star Trek models. If found please return to his owners in the coffee shop."

Then off to China Town for a lurvely Chinese meal. A starter each, main course, four plates of Char Sui Bau to go round (yes Chris, I've found somewhere that makes them and I've converted everyone to eating them!) and copious amounts of jasmine tea to wash it down with.

And presents! Black Books on DVD, a cool colourful notebook which I suspect is Claire's hint of "write more, write more or I'll keep poking you!", an orchid (very pretty and purple), a pair of pretty earrings, Bruce Campbell's autobiography (prompting Craig and Phil to go "Who?" and me to squeal)...

I should explain here that Phil has a reputation for being a bit crap on the present front. When presents were being produced, I looked at him and said: "You've got your 'I owe you a pint' face on." And he grimaced and said "yeah."

But lo and behold (heh, great phrase), after all the presents were dished out, Phil produces from beneath the table an envelope containing an Accessorize voucher and a small package... Opening it, I found the cutest, lightest little teddy bear which Phil had got his sister to send over from Japan.

His name is Sushi, and he's currently sat by my bed.

Headed home full of Chinese, to more presents from my dad. A very cool canvas bag for holidaying, some binochulars (all important when trying to spot monkeys in a rainforest), Billy Bragg's biography, and various other bits and pieces. Went to bed feeling very content, happy, and full of rice.

The only slight flaw in the day wasn't really a flaw at all. But tell me, please, what is the point of the BBC's "Great British Sitcom" contest?

Week after week they get to produce what is essentially a clip show, introduced by a B-List British celebrity, whilst claiming it's a genuinely interesting search. The contest is, however, quite clearly rigged when Phoenix Nights fails to get into the top ten but the shite Vicar of Dibley is in there at number three, or something.

Come on. In my 5 weeks at HMV I swear we supplied everyone in the Greater Manchester area with a copy of Phoenix Nights, but we couldn't give the bloody Vicar of Dibley boxset away. And I'm not joking, we sold it once and the bloke returned it!

It's all a shamelessly cheap way of self-promotion. Clip after clip of an old tv show (often the same bloody clip, I swear - the chandelier falling in Only Fools wasn't funny the first time, and certainly not the fiftieth) culminating in about five hours of the usually funny Jonathon Ross reading off a highly unfunny autocue whilst the audience responds to a bloke holding up "Laugh Now" cards.

All so that Only Fools can win. Well what a frikkin' surprise. I guess it's the perfect excuse for the BBC to continue filling its schedules with repeats.

*goes to one of her new happy places provided by the wonderful Claire*

Listening to: "Mexican Wrestler" by Jill Sobule. I am playing this to death, in case you haven't noticed.

Quote: "I laughed, I cried, I came."

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