Morning friends, are you recovered from your firework-filled weekends? We’d usually go to the annual bonfire bash in the Surrey Cousins’ village- with a suitably alcoholic shindig at their maison following. But this year, for I think the first time ever, a commitment of theirs took precedence over partying and so no fireworks were witnessed or Veuve-Clicquot swigged. It was sad times all round. The brother however, did return from his (ever so) humble abode in East London for the weekend and we had Auntie S, Uncle G and little Cousins G and J over on Saturday for a belated birthday tea party catch up, which was very lovely. Cheesy shapes and cocktail sausages may or may not have been consumed to excess. I then re-applied the war paint and ventured out into the deathly cold to join some chums for a boozy night- which turned out not to be all that boozy, in fact. Cold drinks just aren’t that appealing when it’s in the minuses outside.

Sunday saw two mugs of Costa-related frothyness sat before the Little Mummy and I, a mooch around the neighbouring village’s small (key word) selection of shops and the inevitable country walk- the muddiest and sludggiest yet- before winding down with some George Clarke’s Amazing Spaces– which were just that: amazing.

Which brings us to today; the 5th of November. Significant not because of Monsieur le Guy Fawkes, but because it’s my PaPaaaa’s birthday; the first of many- we specialise in November birthdays in this family. The Father and I do a lot of banterous bickering and rile each other up the WHOLE time. But in between the endless michael-taking, there is a lot of laughter, a deep father-daughter love of peas topped with grated cheese and a mutual realisation that we clash, not because we dislike one another, but because we’re so very similar in personality- a palpitation-inducing prospect if ever there was one.

So to that father of mine, a very HAPPY BIRTHDAY! I do love you to the moon and back- even when I’m hurling insults. I promise.

Famalam not pictured because I’m still a teeny weeny bit shy about whacking out my Lean Mean Photo-Taking Machine.

Happy Guy Fawkes Night!


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