Today is Brian May’s birthday.
He will be 75.
SEVENTY FIVE!!!
And he’s still playing massive concerts around the World.
But unlike last year where he had a whole post dedicated to him, this year I’m going to write about surprises.
OK, it’s hardly something dramatic, but it certainly shocked me.
It was this …
What the hell?
Look how deep those post boxes go?
I always thought they were just cemented into the pavement but now I think about it, that would have been a stupid thing to do.
But bloody hell. No wonder you couldn’t shift them.
I remember as a kid, there was a post box at the top of our road. When Mum wanted a letter posting, I’d ask her to count how long it took me to run to it, post it, and come back again.
I was unsurprisingly … much, MUCH healthier back then. But that postbox became almost a symbol of my development.
A measuring stick for my abilities.
It seems so long ago, and yet I can remember it so vividly.
From running out the door, jumping through – not around – the garden and trying to cross the road to the postbox without hopefully hitting a car coming down the road.
Good memories. In fact so good it’s made me a little homesick.
By homesick, I mean family-sick.
Which is quite a tangent from a post that is simply about how bloody deep postboxes go.