Sessanta Nove

Birthdays - you either love them or you hate them, or is that just me? Personally, I dread them before the event, right up to midnight eve, and then have the time of my life. And so it has been this year, the last one of my sixties. I couldn't care less about ageing, apart from the strains it imposes on your body. Otherwise it's just numbers, and you are as old as you feel, as the adage goes. I can't fault my family, even if I wanted to, and I don't. They know how to make a fuss of one, create a bit of theatre. Presents in bed surrounded by the lot of them, then the nicest, longest, lingering-est, delicious-est, most relaxed lunch at the Anchor in Walberswick, which has hosted many family celebration meals over the nine years I've lived in Suffolk. It will always be my go-to place for a special or ordinary meal. After our lovely long lunch we walked on the beach with Hugo, who lay quietly in his bed under the table as we ate and drank and caroused. We spotted a very large seal swimming a few hundred yards from the water's edge, and watched it swim southwards, sometimes above the waves and sometimes beneath. I felt very blessed in this place, with all my peeps around me. And I must have done something right because they're all back again in less than three weeks, for Christmas.

Today has been the usual anti-climax as the last guest left, but a very dear friend popped by with a sausage roll for my lunch and distracted me. She is learning Mozart's Missa Solemnis for her choir's next concert, and we went through the libretto together, trying out the Latin pronunciations to give her a head start. When she left Hugo and I went for a good walk before the sun died down and dusk made it difficult to see. Just before that a neighbour popped by to ask about my water pressure. Was it any good, he wanted to know? Excellent, I reported, but his is abysmal, and has been for years despite Essex Water's best interventions. I would swear I've never seen him before, living about half a mile away as he does, and off the main lane. But he told me we had met, when I first moved to Cransford. That's Alzheimer's for you. We introduced ourselves anyway, and shook hands. He's called Harry. I WILL remember.

And then I did something I don't think I've ever done before, or certainly not for a very long time. I found a bottle of Cava in the fridge, and at 4.40pm I opened it and had a glass, followed by another. I think I'll stop there, and light the fire while I still can. I never have a drink before 6pm. I never feel the need. But I did today, and temptation stared me in the face, willing me to succumb. So I did. Simples.

Blending in to the countryside