An early summer night’s dream
We’ve just had, apparently, the hottest day since 2009. I can well believe it – it feels positively Mediterranean. The best things about days like this are evenings like this, where my grown up daughters join my lovely husband and I for a barbecue in the back garden. My eldest brings her husband and her babies, two impish mutts who run around the garden barking at the fat pigeon who usually pecks lazily at the grass unbothered. My youngest brings herself and the baby that is steadily growing in her tum, and we all watch in wide-eyed fascination as the baby makes shapes with unnamed limbs under the taut skin of her belly.

The discussion turns to birthdays. My husband proudly announces he remembers all his friends’ birthdays.

“I know when all my friend’s birthdays are. Kevan, for example, his birthday is July 23.”
“That’s my birthday,” I tell him
“Oh yes. I meant July 22.”
“That’s Amanda’s birthday.”
“Oh dear. I don’t know when Kevan’s birthday is.”

There’s nothing like getting old.

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