It is my birthday this Sunday. I am going to be thirty-three. I would love to be more excited about it than I am, but after 21 I am not convinced they are that fun any more.

I have more than plenty of reasons to be cheerful, though: 2 x small, gorgeous female reasons and 1 x tomato-growing, floral-crown-making male reason being the main ones. As I write he is furiously mixing ingredients for my birthday cake. (I am not sure why he isn't gay.)

Tomorrow I am being whisked away on a day trip, just the two of us. This is the first time I will have been away from my princesses since Glorymouse was born. I am a bit nervous but very excited about it. But I have a sneaking suspicion they will be fine.