There were rather more cars parked outside than I had expected when we arrived at my aunt’s house in Morpeth, where the aforementioned family supper was scheduled to take place, and I parked very close indeed to the Ford at the rear so as not to block her next door neighbour’s drive. As ever, my car lurched forward a little when parked on a slope, after I had released its foot brake, and it ended up no more than an inch from the Ford’s rear bumper. Just my luck that it should turn out to belong to my elder brother, who turned out to have been watching the manoeuvre intently.
Still, as I pointed out, it could have been a lot worse, though 1.5 inches worse would still have done it nicely.
After this unpromising start we had a very enjoyable evening introducing The Baby to his second uncle, great aunt and numerous first and second cousins, at various degrees of removal.
Pass the sleeping parcel: The Baby with his second cousin ...
... and uncle.
I would speculate that there can’t be many babies with uncles ranging in age from 26 to 71, but I can sense that there must be someone out there poised to tell me that that is NOTHING. I woke in the early hours in an absolute agony of indigestion, entirely attributable to gross over-indulgence at the buffet I had personally selected. This clearly served me right.
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