Today my aunty, Annie, should have turned 73. It sounds so old! I can’t really imagine her being old. She was 56 when she died, although I suppose to my 15-year-old self, even that would have seemed old. There’s barely a day passes without Annie making an appearance in my thoughts, sometimes it’s just a cameo, sometimes a starring role, but she’s almost always there, and particularly since The Baby arrived. Annie would love her, she would have doted on her, and The Baby would adore her too. I know this because Annie loved and doted on my sister and me and we adored her.
She would have given The Baby a nickname, because Annie gave everyone a nickname (no I’m not telling you mine).
She would have spent hours and hours with The Baby, watching her, chatting to her, cuddling her, and just being with her, because Annie always had time for everyone.
She would have made The Baby feel as if there was no-one else in the world when she was with her, because Annie had a way of making everyone feel as if they were the most special person in her life.
I have no doubt at all that she would have taught The Baby rude words and dirty jokes as she grows up, because Annie had a wicked, filthy sense of humour and a wicked, filthy laugh to match.
She would have spoiled The Baby rotten, because Annie spoiled me and my sister rotten. She treated us as if we were her own children and we were so very lucky to have her as our honorary Mum.
Happy Birthday Annie. We miss you. And we’ll all be having a G&T for you today X