30

#1 son is 30 today. Why is it that birthdays ending in a 0 are more special than ones without? He was almost born yesterday, if you know what I mean, having been yanked into this world at 00.10 a.m. It had been the Saturday of the Boat Race and the Grand National and the start of the Falklands War. The clocks went forward a couple of hours after he arrived, how confusing. After 3 days in the ante natal ward, a day in the West Wing and labour ward I then spent a day and a night in AMH before being transferred out to the peace, quiet and luxury of Inverurie Maternity Hospital. Dave brought me a huge bunch of red roses to celebrate. He was so proud to be a dad - shame he's abrogated the responsibilities that that brought. Those were the days when you got to stay in for 6 days after the birth and the last night you got a night out with your husband/partner, but you had to be back by 9 p.m.! IMH is now a car park.

Ah, but enough of these reminiscences. It was another sair feet day. My own fault. By tea time my feet were killing me. The sun still shone, although by evening the clouds had returned. And it was shining in the west too - although it was slightly chillier. I spent the morning in a basement with no windows and the afternoon in a low ceilinged room with high windows. However, I did manage to sit in the garden with my Magnum Classic this afternoon. The flowers survived last night's onslaught, only some bluebell leaves trampled, so that's a relief.

Last choir tonight before our break. I think we, the sopranos, were screeching a top B. Earlier I'd had to rescue C who was haranguing S at the front door. I probably didn't make things better but there is a point of principle and £2k involved here.

The clothes moths are back. The flat will stink of be full of the scent of lavender by the week-end.