Thursday, I turned forty-one. If my husband hadn’t (re) educated my daughter, I would have turned 21-again.

The weather was warm so the morning was spent by the sea (my happy place), drinking cold coffee and looking for shells (in my birthday hat – feeling all Indiana Jones-like).

Me on my birthday

It really was glorious. So pretty.


Then when my son came home from school, he made me a birthday cake. Well, not a cake but muffins. I love lemon muffins, especially when there’s a big dollop of lemon curd inside.


I can’t remember the last time anyone made me a cake so I was over the moon.


Then it was off to one of my favourite places in all the world: Old Winchester Hill.

We left a little later than I’d hoped. I wanted to get there to see the sunset so I could take photos but we were almost too late. I took a couple of shots, luckily with still enough light to capture the sheep (on film, not literally).

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There were only us and the sheep on the burial mounds.  The peace was almost tangible.

Here’s probably my favourite photo of the day: My son on the burial mound with the sun behind him.



Then we followed the path of the moon home.


I really had the most magical day and I was gob-smacked by all the well wishes. Thank you.  I had so much fun, I want a birthday every day!


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