56

Looking back at last year's post about turning 55, I realise the world has moved on a bit.

None of the cafes have barriers between tables, or people serving while wearing masks, and the whole general sense of going out feels more pre-Covid than than anytime in the past 2½ years.

Having said that, if I have to open a door to a building with my bare hand, or someone shakes my hand, I still don't feel comfortable touching anything else until I've had a squirt of hand gel.

Is it simply being precautious, or has an element of OCD crept into my way of being?

Plans for a picnic lunch and an afternoon Mocha were cancelled because the guy fixing our stove promised he would be round that afternoon to deal with it.

Of course he never turned up nor responded to my text until late in the evening when he suggested he could come the following afternoon.

First world problems, though – we're not starving, being attacked, or being screwed over by an incompetent corrupt government... (well, maybe the last one).

However, Maggie, Meg and I did have time in the morning to visit Kirkcudbright Galleries for a coffee and scone.

And then we went to look at an exhibition showing the amazing illustrations of Raymond Briggs (The Snowman, Father Christmas, Fungus the Bogeyman etc). It was stunning to see the original drawings with notes around the edges, as well as all sorts of quotes and comments about his life and approach to storytelling.

It was inspirational, and just made us want to pick up pencils and crayons and start sketching.

As always, Maggie's birthday cake for me was incredible

This one had a peanut-buttery-rocky-road base, with a cheesecake middle and a chocolate ganache with drizzled peanut butter topping.

She knows me so well!

A second slice was not advisable...

It never is, but then that kind of advice is never listened to.

I was stuffed to bursting point, but also enveloped in the warm love of my family.

I really couldn't ask for more.