Izobel and I went to see Portrait Artist of the Year being filmed this week.

Seven-year-old Iz was bored after an hour. The first hour was clapping and cheering three times on cue, as three surprise guests were revealed. Exciting! However, Stephen Mangan asking a seven year old to be ‘surprised again’ from a different camera angle, with the same three now very unsurprising guests, was not so.

Izobel smiled wide-and-white when I said we’d sneak out. And we did sneak out. Before the first brush touched the first canvas. Izobel was happy.

“If you’re happy…” I whispered as we slid silently behind a curtain . “…I’m happy.”

And straight after, Izobel made me think about something I hadn’t thought about quite so purely and simply for years.

Straight after my, “If you’re happy, I’m happy.” Izobel whispered back, her right hand holding my left forearm, her eyes looking up, fixed on my eyes, “If I’m happy, I’m happy.” She said. Then winked. Smiled. Nodded quickly. And off we slid.

I smiled too as we hit the mid-morning sunlight. Am I happy? I thought. Am I really happy? And as I looked down at Izobel holding my hand, skipping (her not me). I knew the answer was yes.

And off we skipped, together.

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