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).
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).
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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