Dear ______________________,

Happy Belated Birthday!!!

I'm sorry this letter didn't get to you on time, but as you know, I am slack/retarded/dead.

Actually, I was about to write to you when I was picketted by the Festival of Light/seduced by an aboriginal transvestite/mistaken for Salmon Rushdie. By the time I was released, I was quite different./demented./sore.

I'd have written to you at that time, but suddenly went down with malaria/a hot air ballon/Bert Newtons' ratings. I thought I was finished/finnish/fennec, for a short while. By the time I recovered, I couldn't remember who I was/who you were/why.

In my delerium/enthusiasm/jacuzzi, I joined a weird cult that worships cashews/circus/Jason Donovans' used socks fan club. The bad luck continued when, would you believe it, a religious celebration/military coup/sumo wrestler then deprived me of all writing utensils for 41 days/17 years/indecent purposes.

As you can see, life has not been a bowl of cherries/a bowler hat/like Swedish magazines, so I hope you'll forgive me for the late arrival of these birthday greetings.

Wishing you a Happy Birthday/a mild hangover/a scandalous party...

From___________________