out like

Technically, it was his birthday today. I'd have just brought a select few small/packable present-things along with us and celebrated it whilst we were here to avoid unnecessary calendrical/mistruthfulness complications in later years, not least when Edgar finds this entry and reads it LOOK, IT WAS YOUR MUM'S IDEA and spots the displacement compared to the year ago/year-ahead events. However, he still had a nice wee day, getting to go and not see any baby ducks in Dores, getting to see a dead duck's skellington instead, having a wee scone and jam in the pub beer garden, getting a ride on a wee microhorse (without, despite his pronounced wariness of certain smaller animals, any visible nervousness) and having a wee 'extra' cake in the evening on the grounds of two of his wee friends not being able to make it to his 'real' birthday party on Saturday due to being elsewhere. Compared to yesterday evening (when he was unable to keep still until about half ten, when he finally went to sleep) he crashed half-way through the first book before he'd even wriggled properly onto the bed.