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My Robs is eleven years old today. His birthday has not started terribly happily, as it's recycling day, and he hates the sound of the trucks - their air brakes and their rumble and the crash of breaking glass as the men empty the blue boxes.
Later, I'll take him for a nice walk, and see if I can find him a tasty tidbit for his supper.
Here is my favourite picture of him, looking perfectly himself, slightly scruffy and cheerful.
Later, I'll take him for a nice walk, and see if I can find him a tasty tidbit for his supper.
Here is my favourite picture of him, looking perfectly himself, slightly scruffy and cheerful.
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