The whole family was here in the end, all thirteen of us, which was brilliant. Must be … oh, I don’t know – well, several weeks. A month or so, I should think, which is a long time for a small baby. Augustus now weighs over 12 pounds and is 2 feet long. He’s 8 weeks old today. I carried him around much of the afternoon, asleep against my shoulder.
The weather was wonderful for the fete, warm and sunny and, although it was rather slow to get going, it became busy during the afternoon. I’d spent a couple of hours in the morning making cakes; two chocolate cakes and two dozen fairy cakes, and I bought other cakes and a pavlova, so didn’t have to make a pudding tonight. Hay, who is not officially on solid food yet but who enjoys trying flavours, spent some time sucking on a slice of cooked courgette, and some more munching a piece of kiwi fruit.
It still doesn’t seem right to call it kiwi fruit, you know. I’m such a stick-in-the-mud. To me, it’ll always really be a Chinese gooseberry. And physalis is Cape gooseberry. And Sharon fruit is persimmon. Come to that, it took me years to adjust fully to decimal coinage. I translated back for ages. This came in handy two and a half years after the switch when I married the Sage; where we went on honeymoon, the rate of exchange was 13 rupees to the pound, so I just thought in one-and-sixpences. It’s slightly less convenient now, when I find that I am unable to think in metric weights and measures and always have to convert. It’s not difficult – indeed, if it were harder to do, perhaps I’d need grams to become second nature to me. As it is, I’m fairly sure I’ll think in pounds and yards all my life.