It's Brain Day today, eight years since Mr. Nice Neurosurgeon decided to crack open my skull and gorge on the delights within. Well, for 'gorge' you can read 'splice out something unsavoury.'
A fibrous dysplasia, it was, so named because of the displeasing cut of my head for a month afterwards.
Will scare children for negotiable fee.
Brain Day was born two years later, as viable a reason for a session as reasons come. Palace Bar, whiskey at dawn, the start of the football season, Porterhouse North and a two day raising of hell that was chronicled in one of my first ever blog posts.
It was to become a yearly event but we only really resurrected it once in the oft-derided and overly commercial 'Brain Day 2006: The Stag's Headening.'
As the years have rolled on and taken me further and further away from Beaumont Hospital's sexy nurses, Brain Day has taken on many forms.
Three years ago, a couple of quiet jars in Bowes.
Two years ago, Doyles and a free pint from the lovely barmaid.
One year ago, I went to see the first 'Mesrine' film and trundled home for a tug.
Today, lemon and cracked black pepper mini-fillets from Marks and Spencer and, if the urge takes me, maybe a spot of dogging.
I'll report back.