On the first day of Christmas my 3 boys gave to me…
…a basketful of dirty laundry.
So that would be GP1, GP2 and GPD.
It became a basketful or more after I collected 3 wet towels from one bedroom floor and 4 from another then went into the bathroom and threw a wobbly at the pile of clothes on the floor. I collected it all, dumped it in the sitting room, and proclaimed that henceforth any clothes I picked off the floor would go into a bin bag and then the bin. And I wouldn’t be the one replacing them. It worked for a while…
On the 2nd day of Christmas my 3 boys gave to me…
…two piles of ironing and a basketful of dirty laundry.
Nothing new there, then.
On the 3rd day of Christmas my 3 boys gave to me…
…3am vomiting*, two piles of ironing and a basketful of dirty laundry.
I’m sure you all know how it is that, despite all outward evidence to the contrary, you feel exactly the same inside as you did when you were 20. The only difference, as far as I can tell from the inside, is that I’m not asked for identification any longer when I try to buy a drink in a pub. I was well into my twenties before I was able to buy alcohol without being challenged. Not that I get much opportunity to buy drinks in pubs these days, of course.
How times change. There I was the other day, idly browsing in a phone shop with GP2 (my mobile has packed up) whilst his older brother was next door in the Disney shop (yes, really) looking to spend money he didn’t have on a present for the girl who isn’t his girlfriend. Continue reading →
This post is an unashamed copy of Pig in the Kitchen. Hope you don’t mind, Pig; sincere form of flattery, as they say. But you might be able to adapt the recipe to your own needs.
And no, I haven’t eaten that many chocolate brownies this week. 4916 was my finishing position in the Great Edinburgh Run a couple of weeks back. Over 1000 people finished behind me, so it’s not as bad as it sounds, or so I like to think. 6 minutes and c. 900 places slower than last year but I’m not complaining; Continue reading →
It was Monday morning, yesterday now. I woke up knowing exactly where my legs were. As the morning wore on I learned to identify every individual leg muscle. The big ones at the front – the quads. And yes, there were the hamstrings. And the calf muscles, especially the one just above the titanium-reinforced ankle. But ouch! The worst were the ones in my bum, the glutes. They made their presence felt every time I stood up from my chair. If it’s that sore, it must be girls’ weekend away time.