YarMatt brought Dozybean and their progeny along in good time, and we took a gentle wander through Saltram's grounds. Well, some of us took a gentle wander. B-Dog (honestly, he likes being called that) decided to help his post-natal big sis up a slope with a high speed piggy back while YarMatt and yours truly pottered on behind. B-Dog might have a ridiculous moniker, but he is a fit and strong lad.
Soon the pootle was over and we commandeered a pair of tables at the National Trust eatery for one of those slightly over priced things they do so well. Wizzy was very excited to see a that they offered a salad bar. Poor deluded thing that she is. Here's the clan about to tuck into a delicious al-fresco feast of National Trust healthiness with YarMatt quietly growing out of Dozybean's bonce:Naturally, we spoilt the healthy bit by doing puddings as well, with lashings of clotted cream and other artery hardening substances. Note B-Dog looking every inch the cool, blinging, hip-hopper seated at his mummy's right hand.
Our table was nicely positioned under a snowy mespilus tree which was very popular with the local small feathered creatures, one of which scored a direct hit on the comatose Reuben:
The little fellow was, of course, unconcerned and after a quick slurp of his favourite foodstuff he was soon being dandled and bounced about.
All too soon, Millbrook beckoned and it was time to say our cheerios to YarMatt, Dozybean and Reuben.A very unwizzy Wizzy found herself drifting off a bit on the journey Millbrookwards and it was most uncalled for to take an unflattering photo of her nodding away on the back seat. It would be very unfair to publish such a picture for everyone to smirk at.
Happy Birthday, Dozybean.