We went to Yorkshire and it snowed. We were staying with good friends that we've known for years and years, in their house high up in the hills near Holmfirth, and we'd spent the morning walking off our hangovers in the sun and eating a cooked breakfast. Suddenly the snow came down thick and fast for about ten minutes. It didn't settle. When it stopped we went out for tea: pie, chips and gravy. (Eating is my path through a hangover.)
Then northwards to Durham to see John's family. I "persuaded" everyone that a quick trip to Seaham beach for a walk (for me to look for sea glass) would be a cracking good idea in one degree winds. We would have stayed longer were we not about to lose all feeling in our extremities, but what a lot we found. The trouble with looking for sea glass, though, is that you spend the whole time bending over looking at the ground when you could be looking at the sea or the sky.
We were home at the end of the week in time for me to celebrate being one whole year older. I tried to convince my niece that I was twenty eight, not thirty eight, and she just looked at me through narrowed eyes and really scrutinised my face, then said "I don't believe you".
I don't care. I had a completely lovely day. Friends from near and far sent cards and parcels. New friends from school called in with gifts and flowers which was unexpected and moved me a bit, as I was not expecting that at all. Bella drew me a new family portrait which nearly made me cry when I unwrapped it. My family came round in the afternoon and we sat in front of the fire and drank tea and ate three types of cake. John made a blackcurrant and liquorice cake (so, so, so good) and then my parents babysat so we could go out. A really top day. All birthdays should fall on Saturdays, don't you think?
And when I look at myself through Bella's eyes I don't think I look a day over twenty eight.