Birthday cards say so, so much – about the sender and the receiver

I have recently celebrated, if that’s the correct word, my birthday.

The day passed without any major catastrophe. Age Concern didn’t ring and SAGA have simply given up on me, it seems.

A really nice day was improved by watching the mighty Arsenal beat Liverpool 4-1. I didn’t see it in person, I hasten to add, as tickets have now become a luxury beyond the means of us pensioners.

Except, that is, my uncle, who’s in his mid-70s and has two season tickets at the Emirates. Some might say he’s a real glutton for punishment.

No, my viewing pleasure was provided by BT Sport. So that SWMBO didn’t feel too left out, I followed the game on my iPad while sitting at the kitchen table.

After all, it’s only fair to offer some morale-boosting support in the form of my presence while she does the ironing and provides me with mugs of coffee.

At half-time I had another look at the birthday cards I had received.

I’d like to say they were a mixed bunch but I can’t.

They were all jokey with one exception – an Arsenal card from my father. Thanks, dad.

The jokes were broadly based on three themes – computers, booze and my total lack of DIY skills – and obviously selected with great care.

As I skimmed through them once more, I smiled a lot and thought how nice it is that the tradition of sending a card is still with (some of) us.

Not that I begrudge the “Happy Birthday” texts or emails – they are as well-received as the cardboard greetings.

It’s just that the cards are incredibly tactile and simply made me feel good - even though some verged on the edge of rudeness.

But they all summed up how well family and friends know me, which I take as an enormous compliment. They also showed that I have family and friends who share my wacky sense of humour and irreverence.

Now isn’t that lucky.