Birthdays.

  
 
 



We celebrated my dear aunt’s recent birthday at the grandest of places – all looming shadows, chandeliered ceilings and old ladies sitting genteel in window seats with large gemstones on their fingers and pearls in their ears. An atmosphere of quiet activity: golfers out on the lawn, boys in plaid trousers, girls in neatly ironed skirts serving Pimm’s with fresh fruit on the terrace. The sort of kids raised on tennis lessons and cable knit sweaters, weekend houses and charm school. Normally I, with my oft uncombed hair and scuffed shoes, would feel very much a fish out of water in such establishments (not to mention a little indignant at the thought of unearned privelege) but I have to admit, donning one’s best dress and pretending to be glamorous does harbour its own attraction. Yours for one day only. 

And doesn’t everyone look pretty?