When I was born, Mum and Dad bought a pink rhododendron.
It’s moved house a few times with them and I think it was only when Mum and Dad moved to where they are now that it made it out of its pot and into the ground.
It’s grown with me and it’s flowered around my birthday every year since, (I’m in awe that anyone can keep a plant alive as long as we’re talking!) and I’ve had my photo taken with it pretty much every year. Yesterday was this years photo, and as I posted a suitably embarrassing photo of my oldest friend on Face book for her birthday this morning, I realised that the rhododendron was in that too – back in 1982. In fact, it might have been my party (that was my party dress and party shoes and just look at those ribbons in my friends hair!)
So here you have 1982:
And I’m not sure my parents have ever been part of this tradition, so yesterday I rectified that: