Tummy bugs, back problems and unforeseen consequences

James Hammond's birthday was the day before mine.

Now I live in Bordeaux in palatial (if pokey) luxury, in the bosom of my family, with dining table, patio and every comfort known to man. Well, every comfort I could reasonably hope for, shall we say. James lives far from his family in monastic isolation in his upstairs flat in the quarter judaïque.

So I arranged a surprise birthday party for him, using a surreptitious Facebook group I proposed that we do something festive on our patio involving sausages and cake. Picture my surprise when I was ejected from the group and the discussion continued. It did not need the deductive powers of Inspector Barnaby to realise that the birthday party was to have a double focus - for James and for myself.

Until the tummy bug struck. And the bad back flared up.

Our feeble physical form forbade us to attend.

Fiddle-dee-dee.

Oh well. There's always another year.
Well, not always, but there's reasonable hope of another year this time, at least!

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