Oscar wrapped the presents
It’s almost unbelievable that Will is one. It seems only a few months since he was born, while we were all out eating Spanish food on a Good Friday evening. But the fact that today was his birthday and we were off to Kent to celebrate is testimony to the fact that another year has passed by.
I did read – somewhere – the reason why the years go faster as you get older, and it’s all to do with proportions. When you are three, and you can’t wait until you’re four, you have to live through another whole third of your life again before you get there. When you’re 33 and heading for 34, you have to live through only one 33rd of your life before it comes upon you.
If the proportions always stayed the same, and you made the wait from 33 to 34 equivalent to that from 3 to 4, you’d have 11 years to prepare for the increment.
Anyhow, Will’s birthday. He was having a party in a church hall, timed for mid-afternoon to fit in with feeding times, so we buzzed down to see Rich’s old village in the morning, and then dropped in on some friends for a lunchtime mug of tea.
They had a lovely cottage in the middle of almost nowhere. The wonky walls betrayed its age – about 350 years – and it was heated by fireplaces and an old wood burner. The garden, they were just sorting out, and planting up fruit bushes and vegetables. There was even talk of chickens, so plenty of common ground.
It was clear down there that spring was on its way – even moreso than it is at home. The rape fields were more yellow than they are in Essex, and the trees seemed further in bud, so it was almost a shame to head back into London – or the southern outskirts, at least – for the rest of the afternoon.
Birthday cake
It was a fun afternoon, though, at least as much so for the adults as for the kids. I’ve not been to a one-year-old’s part since I was about… well, one, I suppose, but little had changed. There was still cake and jelly and bowls of crisps, although gone were the pineapple hedgehogs of old, and in their place were mini pizzas. Out went pass the parcel and pin the tail on the donkey. In came ball pools and bubble machines.
The two hour party shot by (although if the time-passing logic holds true here, too, then it must have lasted whole days for the kids), and as we left to pack up the cars, it started to rain, proving that we’d chosen the better half of the day to explore the wilds of Kent.
Perhaps winter isn’t quite over after all.
The birthday boy
