Party, party, party, party

15st 8lb, 6.7 units. One birthday is not enough for The Queen and The Boy demands nothing but the best, too, so we held a small celebration for his family and friends in the North East, a fortnight after his party in Cheshire. I thought this made it his second party; but his mother, who is more in touch with these things than I am, assured me that it was actually his fourth, counting the ones held at his nursery and his lunch with a similarly aged friend on his actual birthday.

Two of his second cousins (once removed), aged five and three, pitched up to help him celebrate, along with their parents, his great aunt and the wife of one of my first cousins, whom it seemed simplest to designate an honorary aunt, and a couple of old friends of mine from up the road.

Who's that boy in my garden?

Another cake - I don't believe it!

The Boy serenely observes his many admirers

There were sandwiches, crisps, scones with jam and clotted cream, chocolate biscuits, jelly and ice cream … and ample supplies of Cava for the adults, since I had run unaccountably short of real champagne. My view of the event was perhaps slightly coloured by being struck on the side of the head by a dog toy as I was walking to the garden gate to greet a visitor. It drew blood. I could not quite believe that Elfin Safety permitted the sale of anything so hard and sharp, even for canine use, or that a three-year-old could hurl it with sufficient force to wreak such damage. Still, apart from that, a good time appeared to be had by all. We must do it again next year.