This is not a flower blip*

Apparently the rules on the non-acceptability of supermarket flowers don't apply when you're six years old.

George bought these on the eve of Mo's birthday, when we'd gone for some supplies last Sunday. I'm blipping them to remind myself of him carrying them round Newcastle, still dressed in his posh togs from Carl's wedding, with a look of great seriousness.

It seemed to make everyone who saw him smile.



* OK, it is. I admit it. It's a flower blip.