I have thought of you a number of times in the last few weeks and am sorry I haven’t written until now. I have a sneaking fear I have missed your big birthday, not least because I received a very garbled instant message from Flo suggesting I buy you some love balls –Magic 8 0 balls, she called them. I gather she borrowed Fifty Shades of Grey from the library van they send from Cheriton Bishop and is now full of bright ideas–and mouth-warmed stainless steel.
I don’t think they would be wise, Doris. Not with your pelvic floor.
I knew you’d much prefer a little something from a shop I found in Ballycastle, Co. Antrim, but it seems they’d had a run on Abbey Crunch.
In Ballintoy, someone tried to interest me in a rowing boat but I know your biceps aren’t what they were and I think its hull might be just about as leaky as your own. The Cackler suggested that we might do a buy-out for a long weekend in Margaret’s B&B in Glenarm–which is Northern Ireland Tourist Board Approved–and invite the Chaffs to come along with you and Flo, but I thought better of it.
Anyhow, even though I haven’t managed to source the perfect gift just yet, I wanted you to know I am thinking of you. Happy 80th birthday Doris, your loving friend Blabs.