I have jumped online briefly to make this brief update in which I confess once again to the blindingly obvious: indeed, for I am a sad fangirl and I still know Ken Hidaka's birthday.

Why I should be able to remember Ken's birthday when I can barely remember my dad's I don't know, but there you have it. I shall mark this occasion by trying not to write anything in which Ken has a gratuitously rotten time all day, which for me is honestly quite a sacrifice. I'll also see if there's ever a point in which I can quietly sing Happy Birthday without making myself look like a total lunatic (I'll gladly settle for looking kind of insane, though). Sadly though, once again I will not be able to get cake. We're having ham for dinner, maybe I should stick a candle in that?

Difficulties inherent in being seen to publically celebrate the birthday of a fictional character aside, Happy Birthday to a boy who, at least in my head, is perpetually stuck at the not-exactly-terrific age of nineteen, making the whole point of remembering his birthday moot. But I do it anyway because hey, it's Ken.

... and once again, if I wasn't stuck in Faversham, I probably would be buying cake. Oh, dear.

Anyway, last year, in an attempt to mark the occasion, I asked for Ken-centric fanfic prompts. I blush to recall this as I haven't actually managed to write a single one of these. Clearly where it comes to writing I have failed quite hard lately - and you'd think it wouldn't be that difficult to get me to write about Ken, after all - and so I won't be asking for any more of those this year. Instead, I think I'll celebrate by actually trying to start writing the damn things... if I can find a spare five minutes in between the whole preparing-for-Christmas thing that's going on down here. My afternoon and evening may be pretty nearly booked solid after this point, but I still have an idea for at least one of them I desperately need to make a start on, after all.

Dear Ken, it's your birthday, and I apologize unreservedly for Through a Glass Darkly. And, you know, just about everything else I have ever written with the possible exception of Paperclip, which at least got you laid.