50

Emma, despite herself, has caught up with me in age.
The plan was Bastonis; up on the hill was where she wanted to be.  
The weather thought otherwise and we ended up at the moulin, stringing lights around the wood pile and chavvy golden bunting beneath the beams.  
The weather turned from hot to torrential rain.  We ate beef sausages stuffed into baguettes with chili sauce and caramelized onions then headed down to the river under dark rain clouds and almost-night skies.
Mu, gin high, jumped off the diving board log and Paco dived into to save her, cutting her scalp with his teeth and puncturing the plasticttyrelookalike thing she had round her tummy.
The party ended, as all parties should, with a bottle of iodine and disinfectant.  
In the past, pre-being 50, we'd have been in A&E.
Count your blessings and be glad to have survived half a century...