What a lovely Fathers' Day we had, last week. It was the first full-family meet up we've since Easter and it was such a brilliant day, full of all the things I love. Seeing my amazing Dad. Moseying around the Royal Academy Summer Exhibition, where we gazed, grimaced and giggled at the art, which we dismissed and fell in love with, in equal measure. Picnics on trains, brown paper packages, tied up with string. My favourite ballerina, Tamara Rojo performing Romeo & Juliet at the O2; a rollercoaster of elation and devastation, not a dry eye in the house. Indulging in a double Peyton & Byrne fest, once at the RA and again at St. Pancras; chicken and tarragon pie, fresh, summery salads and a massive slice of cake for the train. Savouring the happy, contented train journey home with the Ginge and my sister, watching sun-drenched fields flashing by. It was one of those days when you feel as though you are floating on air, when everything is right with the world and when, at the end of the day, you go to bed with a smile on your face and you cross your fingers that you will dream of the amazing things you have done, just so that the feeling will last a tiny bit longer.