Autumn

It is my birthday soon, when I will be Perimenopausal years old. The magnificant gift received from H.- a pair of frog-green wellies printed with waterdrops- will do me proud for years of Reekie walks, and I'm delighted with them. H. bought a matching pair, so we shall be twins on our rambles. And we're not even dykes.

I love autumn, when the trees and the seasons turn, maybe because of childhood birthday associations. Today the wee wan and I were menaced by a newsagent's flyboard gusted along the pavement by the wind. Spooky! Wee wan and I visited the doctor to have her oval ankle skin inflammation seen. The GP prescribed Canestan (clotrimazole) cream for it, as a presumed fungal infection- but she wouldn't be drawn on the precise condition. It's the season and the genes for fungus, all right.

Birthdays always involve some kind of summary of feathers in cap and black marks. This last year has not been conventionally successful, but it was needed. The well-paid academic sausage machine job is gone and the pennies have to be counted, but there's been time and space to spend with the kiddos and to get used to being oneself. There's even somewhat of a Plan now. To stay here and enjoy the kiddos until they're fledged, then sell up and move somewhere hot with a veg garden and goats.