Pimms o'clock!

Mrs B insisted on a Pimms before supper this evening.  Her reasoning was that forty-three years ago she was in a RAF hospital recovering from having delivered our eldest son and was loaded about with the detritus of that procedure.  She would have liked a Pimms then . . .

And after said indulgence we strolled the sunlit streets of our little village, with this scene attracting my blip-attention.

The birth was on a Friday afternoon, and the consultant attending (a RAF wing commander) decided at 5 o'clock that a forceps was required, much to the consternation of the supporting nurses/midwives.  I worked out later that the chap had not been keen to miss Happy Hour :-)  

But all was well in the end