Just to correct a vicious, vindictive hate campaign in the comments, while today is indeed my birthday, it is number thirty-two , not the forty proposed by the privately-educated (and thus spiritually and emotionally crippled) forty-something Hallam. As noted this time last year , 1977 was the year of my birth, not the far inferior 1969. So, to celebrate me having eight years up my sleeve until the dreaded forty, here is a photo of myself, a battered fit and broken down healthy old young man with two little rapscallions in either arms and a duck just behind as I shift past Brian Epstein, Bruce Lee, Mama Cass Elliot, Karen Carpenter and Keith Moon in the years spent alive column.