Nobody loves a fairy when she's...

...considerably older than forty.

It was a quiet New Year, with just the two of us and a bottle of prosecco... and beer... gin... a small whisky chaser. 'straditional innit. When I say quiet I am gently overlooking the interminably long cannonade that went off at about two thirty, just as we'd slipped into slumber. Hey ho.

Then a quick walk and back for lunch here with Noel and Mary. And as they left, in comes Cheryl and Ivy for a grand-daughter sleepover. It may be, then, that I am a tad jaded as I post up a muted entry into the new decade. 

This speciality house godess was perched high on the trees when I was a babe. She's probably sixty plus years old in this incarnation, and she's had not a change of tutu since she joined the family.

I reckon she must have ever such a sore bottom by now...