Phew!

It's a good thing this blog uses no author photos because, trust me dear reader, you wouldn't want to see the state of me this afternoon as I write. This weekend has been jam packed with adventures.

First of all, I'm delighted to mark the arrival of our newest family member. He's a fine looking boy but how his mother managed to deliver him remains a mystery to me. She's a dainty wee thing and he's a hefty bruiser of a baby in comparison. Imagine Tinkerbell producing a bowling ball. Isn't nature marvellous? We were all on tenterhooks waiting for him to appear and now his grand entrance is made.
He chose to arrive the day before my birthday [I was secretly hoping we'd share the day]. This, of course, means I am less likely to forget his birthday and his granny and I agree that all the best people are born in May. My home now has birthday cards vying for shelf space with good luck, sorry you're leaving and congratulations cards. Very cheerful. The work related cards will be decanting to my new office on Tuesday. My birthday was lovely but pretty hectic all in.

As well as my birthday celebrations His Nibs and I were attending a wedding ceilidh in deepest Musselburgh. His Nibs tried out his kilt outfit and found his sporran was missing a tassle [a concern for any self respecting Scotsman] so he took it back to the shop to have it replaced. Thankfully no surgery was required.
Sadly, his relief was shortlived as it later transpired that the replacement sporran was too small and unfit for purpose. I know what you're thinking...
It was a sporran emergency as the outfit is no use without one. There can be no birling of the kilt without a sporran to keep things as and where they should be.

Cue mad phone calls across Fife to source a spare sporran. Time was ticking by and the first dance might have been over before we got there. The phone was red hot. I was calling people I hadn't called in years. Once they stopped laughing people very kindly checked cupboards etc and eventually a sporran was found. Emergency averted.

We made it to the ceilidh and were able to wheech round the dance floor with the best of them. Well, up until my head turned into a pumpkin that is and His Nibs had to take me home. Migraines have no sense of timing whatsoever. Or maybe they do and are the work of the devil...