We are enjoying a Birthday Meal at the Queen's Head.
I am not at all sure which Queen's head it is. The inn sign depicts
a stern woman dressed in the style of Tudor times. She could be Mary I or Mary Queen of Scots. The latter, of course, did in fact lose her head but there is no indication in history to suggest that it ended up on an inn sign, espcecially one out here in the
countryside around Hook in Hampshire. Nobody else in our party is particularly bothered about this conundrum, preferring to concentrate on the menu, which promises great things. Despite the extensive choice, the Youngest of the Darling Daughters and I still
end up ordering the same meal. It happens every time.
Mr B and I travelled over to arrive in the early afternoon. I am nursing a heavy cold and had texted my daughter
first thing in the morning to ask if she was prepared to take the risk of me infecting the whole household or if she would prefer me to stay Home Alone. It was only after I had sent this somewhat pathetic message that I realised I hadn't wished her a Happy
Birthday. What must she think of me, I worried. Her text came back: "Of course you must come, as long as you feel up to it."
They say, don't they, that the best
determinant of whether a patient is suffering from flu or just a bad cold is the Fiver Test. Draw attention to a five pound note fluttering about the garden and a patient with a bad cold will hurry outside to claim it. A patient with the flu will just pull
the bedclothes over his head and carry on groaning. I couldn't have been that ill because I knew I would be so much more miserable if I stayed home and missed out on helping the Youngest of my Darling Daughters to celebrate her birthday
A walk in the sunshine to find the wood carving of a raven crafted from a dead tree, the ceremonial Opening of Presents and Cards, the Birthday Meal, the Cutting of the Cake. A birthday
like any other - and, like any other, not to be missed.
Happy Birthday, my Darling Daughter. So glad I was able to share it with you.