The scruffy hordes descended on Dickyworld in numbers today, large numbers, although not quite as large as the number of years we were celebrating since the birth of the matriarch, and it must be said it passed it's first test in flying colours.
There was a bit of flying dust too, helped along by one of the mother's of our grandchildren demonstrating the powers of her super duper vacuum cleaner, rendering the stairs and carpeted areas walkable in bare feet, a not insignificant achievement.
Mister Four seemed to approve of his special bath in the linen cupboard, and pronounced the plastic channel drain bisecting the backyard to be "cool". Miss Lily did her bit too, polishing every visible timber floor with the knees of her pyjamas, while the Big "E" feigned disinterest as only a four month old can do.
By the time the sun was over the yard arm, we'd been to the beach and failed entirely to buy her a new iPad in the face of the world wide shortage, but succeeded to pass off some of our now surplus furniture over the course of our twelfth coffee for the day, and Raymonde produced the most extraordinary chocolate truffle cake and we ate and drank and laughed until the wee small hours.
Actually it seemed like the wee small hours, but from memory, by the time the little hand had reached the nine, I was the last man standing. Barely standing, but standing none the less.
Happy Birthday Jojo.