Birthday cake

The party is in full swing. Around the fire the numbers dwindle, while the house accommodates a growing session.

At midnight I’m surprised by the emergence of a cake to the sound of Happy Birthday. It’s an Ange special, exquisitely detailed, portraying a possible grand slam hand. I decline to t think through the necessary finesses - it’s just too late.

I wander/stagger to bed at breakfast time, re-emerging at lunchtime to cook sausages. People wake, eat, depart. Debbie and colleagues come and go. By early evening only Tim, Owen, Tony, and Leila remain. Guardians of the Galaxy 2 sees us through to bed time.