Yes, it’s my 47th birthday today and Nicola Morgan has been and gone and told everyone (I knew I shouldn’t have twittered about it).
I spent the morning sitting in the sun, writing in peace as my lovely husband took the boys off to a three hour archery lesson. I was very productive, and now feel smug.
I’ve been given an embroidered dark blue silk jacket, which I bought for myself from eBay but which Big Dave intercepted when the postman delivered it; and I’ve been promised an orchard with apples, pears, walnuts and mulberries (all to be planted in the autumn which is, apparently, the best time of year to plant them), a petrol strimmer (Big Dave’s died a few weeks ago and apparently I need one of my own now, to compensate), and an electric screwdriver (ditto). A Chinese meal is apparently going to be cooked for me soon. Meanwhile I shall read: my joy knows no bounds. A perfect birthday, and it’s not over yet.