Me and the Boy drove to the beach, the first time in a long time despite it being such a short distance away.
It felt good to connect with the real world for a while, a welcome break from life in the twilight zone.
We splodged along the shoreline, maintaining the advised distance, scanning the sand and rock pools for what the littlest would term 'treasure', wondering if a dead jellyfish, one of many washed up and looking for all the world like a purple flower encased in gloop, would have made the final cut.
The forecast had warned of heavy rain all day and, like every man and his dog, we'd dressed accordingly.
Predictably, grey skies turned blue, the sun shone, waterproof jackets became an encumbrance and the Boy's head (sporting a radical number 1 haircut) turned pink.
The steep steps to the top, where the car and our picnic lunch were parked, had had another hundred or so added to them since last scaled.
Or maybe it was the impact of Post Lockdown, Still Doing Far Too Much Sitting And Face Stuffing syndrome.
Whichever, I stopped for a breather on the half-way bench whilst the colour of a certain head moved up the pink intensity scale.
Back home, there was a chocolate, rose and pistachio cake and a bottle of bubbly, accompanied by some rousing singing over the phone from an enthusiastic littlest, who was somewhere at the southern end of the country, suitably pumped up (as, I'm sure, were his parents) for a visit the next day to Peppa Pig World.
There were cards and gifts to open - books, posh chocs, Turkish delight from a stall at Borough Market (I'm addicted), a selection of spices, a scarf, flowers, plant, candle - which truly couldn't have been chosen better. My people know me well.
I'd started the day not feeling in a particularly celebratory mood. The Boo had been ill the previous week which had led to an afternoon with the emergency vet for various tests, a scan and injections (he was given methadone and tramadol; I was trying to work out how I'd fund a dog with a drug habit), with follow up scans at our usual surgery the next day. He's doing well but the vets' bills are his Christmas present for the next 25 years.
Then there was a scarily high number knocking on my door and the omnipresent spectre of The Virus.
Not the ideal ingredients for a day of merrymaking.
But, you know what?
I love birthdays, me.
Edited to add: For some inexplicable reason (problems with Typepad? Virgin Media? Who knows?), I'm now unable to respond to comments via email. Apologies for this and, as always, thanks so much for taking the time to visit and leave a comment on my ramblings.