It is a gorgeous day. We even break out the bottle (of suncream, you understand). Tink and Squidge spend the evening throwing themselves around in the soon-to-be-mown weeds grass filling our back garden.

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The next door neighbour comes round to complain that Squidge is shouting rude words out of the bathroom window and throwing things into their garden (no doubt giggling all the while). Frank apologises profusely and takes the offending items – the head of my lady shave and a sanitary towel. Nice.

Frank insists he is keeping a record of all these things in preparation for his father-of-the-bride speech some day… he rubs his hands with glee. HRH looks baffled and raises his eyebrows a few times (his latest manifestation of The Flap). Squidge pushes her glasses up her nose and grins. I tell her it’s nearly bed time. She slumps down on the futon, arms folded, scowling. The change is so rapid that I laugh. She reminds me so much of her aunt at the same age.

Thank you, Lord, for the extraordinary beauty of ordinary things and for the chance to appreciate them.

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