Today my youngest brother turned fifteen. I can’t believe it, to be honest. He doesn’t act, look or think like a fifteen year old yet, but there you go. We had a fairly low-key celebration with mostly family, and Stephen got to see his Dad, as well. I had already given him my gift - on Friday, which will make sense in a second - so no one else got to see what I gave him, or his reaction.

Mind you, that’s probably a good thing, given that he screamed like a five year old girl when I handed him his copy of Nightfall; I doubt that his girlfriend would have found it very attractive. I gave it to him on Friday, in case you haven’t figured it out already, so that he could play it over the weekend. Otherwise he would have been facing a whole week of having the game but not having the time to play it.

It really was bad luck that Stephen’s birthday and my own are so close together. If Mum hadn’t had to put on my twenty-first a few weeks ago, she would have been able to give him a real party; had friends over, or gone to the movies, or something like that. I know that Stephen understood, and I’m sure he has big plans for his sixteenth next year, but it would have been nice for him to do that this year.

Despite his oddities, and the fact that he drives me completely up the wall most days, I do love him. I hope that this birthday - although small - was a good one, and I wish him many, many more. I have high hopes of him reaching adulthood and maturing into a man that I respect and like. If he can manage to curb THAT. BLOODY. SINGING. I’m sure he’ll make it to his next birthday without being throttled.