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We’re looking forward to when parties aren’t socially distanced. Until then, we had a corker of a first birthday.
The weather held. Garden set like Besźel and Ul Qoma, the food table as customs checkpoint and lots of retrieving Piglet from her border crossings.
We thought we’d knacked her mood by mistiming the morning nap, but the look of wonder when she came downstairs to see balloons.
World-weary at one, she paused, confused, when everyone sang happy birthday at the end. She worked out she was special at that point. And she is.
20 June 2020
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By now The Chef had had prostaglandin and we were told to not leave the grounds, safe in the knowledge that — as delicately phrased by the
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Father’s Day was treat after treat. The Chef took Piglet while I had my lie in; card and coffee waiting for when I surfaced. And football is back —