Nell: Happy Birthday to you.
Me: Thank you. What do you think about my wolf hat?
Nell: It’s not a wolf hat. It’s far too hairy. This is Devon not the Antarctic.
Me: I love it. Can I smell bread?
Nell: Yes, freshly baked bread rolls for your breakfast. Herr Hoffmann thought you’d like a German one.
Me: I would, if I can have an English one at the weekend.
Nell: Are you going out to dinner?
Me: No. Kev and I are having fish and chips and a glass of champagne in front of the fire.
Nell: What about us?
Me: You’re included. That’s why we’re staying home.
Nell: You’ll be missing Alice and Chris and the grandchildren but there’s FaceTime and Charlotte and Nigel will be here at the weekend.
Me: Yes.
Nell: I wrote you a poem.
Me: Thank you.
Nell: Would you like to hear it?
Me: Very much.
Nell: It’s quite short.
Me: Aren’t we all?
Nell: ‘It’s someone’s birthday today
Who doesn’t like a fuss.
Who’d much rather stay
Hidden behind all of us.
Well, I’m sorry, dear Sara,
That simply won’t do.
Some people need celebrating
And yes, I mean you.
I know this particular birthday
Is not an easy thing,
But think of your stories
And the joy that they bring.
You may be quite old
And you may be quite small
But the love that surrounds you
Is not small at all.’
Me: I love it.
Nell: Good. Notice I didn’t mention your exact age.
Me: Yes, I appreciated that.
Nell: I couldn’t find anything to rhyme with 66 or pension.
Me: I can always rely on you to tell it as it is.
Nell: You can always rely on me no matter what. You and me. Always.
Me: Yes. Sorry.
