Twenty-five
7 September 2009 @ 21:04
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The first year he opened his presents on the terrace, in the early autumn sunshine below Tourrettes-sur-Loup. The second was a so-so day in boring Berkshire, with a curry from our favourite take-away. The third was out in Nice again, with a snazzy dinner at Issautier. The forth was our first living in sunny Devon, to celebrate he went surfing out a Westward Ho! Fifth one was fizz and just us. For the sixth I made a pathetic cloud cake and we had non-pathetic Wellington for our tea (cooked by someone else). The seventh is tomorrow; he is twenty-five, but I’ve only know him since he was eighteen. Seven birthdays and lots of gifts later, but still Happy Birthday Mr Chicken! |
