Earlier this week, my dear father in law celebrated his 100th birthday and I wanted to make him a more personal card than the ones in the shops, one that encapsulated parts of his life - where he's lived, the blast furnace where he worked, his regiment (he served in the Reconnaisance Corps during the Second World War), his social club.
And now we're in the midst of a glorious Easter weekend.
Easter Sunday and, whilst it's gusty out there, the sun is most definitely shining, at least for now.
There are chocolate eggs of all sizes and a line of slightly menacing bunnies to be scoffed, flowers in vases, croissants from the farmers market in the park, a wonky Simnel cake, Easter biscuits, the Boy is making something fancy with gruyere and there's a just out of the oven Victoria sponge for a proper afternoon tea (yes, the other two here will be required to nibble finger sandwiches, drink from dainty china cups and use pastry forks).
With a cracking read on the go and the finale (noooo!) of The Night Manager to look forward to this evening, it doesn't get much better.
But Easter wouldn't be Easter without a glimpse of the Easter Bunny.