Pizzabella and her father, Mr School Friend, celebrated 100 years yesterday. Not evenly distributed, but more of a 30/70 division. It was clever of them to match their birth years so well, and it was nice to be able to fit this in while we’re in the right country. Even Daughter was able to come along.
The sun shone.
There was too much to eat, and we weren’t able to make a lot of impact on the food trays. There was self-assembly birthday cake. Three kinds of tea and, I believe, only the one kind of coffee, but plenty of it.
On the way there (it’s a two hour drive) we stopped in Varberg to enjoy the castle and the walk round it next to the sea (where we found a group of people who appeared to be doing yoga on surfboards), walked through the playground with its haunted house and oversized bat outside. And we didn’t present ourselves at GP Cousin’s house, for fear of gatecrashing something or other. It was his 65th. Birthday, that is.
Five years ago he stole my birthday, and I still haven’t quite evened out the cake score. Especially since I didn’t manage to have any birthday cake earlier this week due to an administrative hiccup.
I must see what I can do to rectify this.