It’s my birthday today – I have somehow achieved a mighty thirty years on this planet, and I’m having quite a delightful day. Quercus and I have just been for tea and buns with the witchling at a very nice seaside town, and I have got four bars of chocolate to eat, a chocolate button cake, some handknitted socks from Cortes Island (my spiritual home, if so pretentious a phrase can be overlooked in light of it being my birffles), a red flexible trug bucket thingy, a copy of the Green Parent magazine, tons of candles, a book about knitting socks, some magic needles and some gorgeous wool, a pink felt hat and, very excitingly, a copy of Tales from the Green Valley. It is all most exciting. Oh, and Quercus made me breakfast, which involved grilled tomatoes and poached eggs. Lo, it was good. And on Saturday, we are going to the Yarner Trust‘s Christmas craft fair – I am so excited I can barely speak; in fact, in a bizarre Freudian typing slip, the first attempt at that sentence ended ‘I can barely squeak’.

Happy twenty-seventh of November, folks.