Miles of space, no distance.

I celebrate today, my sister is sixty. Sixty! I ought to be a good brother and say she doesn't look a day over fifty-nine. I was restrained from whats apping for hours and hours this morning but eventually I was graciously allowed to press send at 0800 ish.

It is still one of life's markers that on my 60th she turned up with a huge box complete with red ribbon. The aroma gave the game away as there's nothing, absolutely nothing that smells as good as a pasty. Except a boxfull of them! Three years ago today I got my piercing but the pasties come to mind far more readily

Lying still one was wondering how best to celebrate, apart from coffee. The answer  was, eventually, obvious and appropriately supplied by my brother.

What more could you want to hail this auspicious morn, fried eggs and hoggs puddn. The fact that the owner of the oven was up Tescos helped. Alas it did take enough energy to require a sit down which accounts for the darker tone of the hoggs puddn than is optimal.


Hoggs puddn, handsome stuff. It was rich.  Every mouthful a joyful soiree along gourmet avenue.

So, happy birthday, Amanda, thanks for the hoggs puddn, Andrew. Miles of space may separate us but no distance.

Now, once the fridge is refilled, the cooking irons sorted, cooker splatters wiped away and my energy is restored no doubt I shall be required to make coffee.

That, too will be another of life's unbridled pleasures.
Then I shall while away the hours before Helen calls dozing through F1 test day 3.

Life it just gets better and better, unless you judge it by what you can't do.