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I'm not quite sure why I feel so strongly about sharing my birthday with the POTUS, but finding out that Barack Obama is not only a lion but a 4th August lion was enough to make me gasp with excitement. Then again, I was almost dizzy when I found out while I was watching the opening credits of Newsnight last night, having arrived at my parents' house in the late afternoon to find my dad fixing four Birthday Girl balloons to the front gate, and then eating almost my own bodyweight in crisps and dip, so that none of us were remotely hungry, and then wolfing down delicious fish starter and amazing ribeye and bearnaise sauce and homegrown beans and homegrown salad and then apple tart with vanilla icecream plus extra chocolate cupcake for me with candle. I didn't eat the candle. But I did drink a lot of wine. And I woke up this morning still unbelievably, palpably full, and then came to work and went out for an horrifyingly early lunch to a really swanky steak restaurant with my boss and his right hand man, and almost got into a tussle because they were having calamari to start and wanted me to order a portion, and I could still taste the ribeye from last night, and so eventually my boss agreed to give me one of his rings, and then I managed not to be coerced into ordering steak for my main, and instead had seabass with spinach and bacon and peas and onions which under any other circumstances would have been absolutely delicious but on this occasion was absolutely the richest and most unnecessary meal I've ever eaten, and tonight I am going out for dinner with Emily to a supper club in Brixton where we are having at least four courses, and I can't cancel as it's been booked for weeks and I am so excited about it in principle but obviously in practice am tempted to take up bulimia just for this afternoon so that I can conceive of fitting in more food. I bet Obama doesn't have to go through this.