A grand day out

Since the year before I was born, the olds (and now me as well) have been keeping to one side all the pennies etc found on the pavement, and putting it into a special account with my name on it, to be saved up forever and ever, and only used when I buy my first house.

It was originally supposed to be for the things I'd forgotten, like a washing machine, but now we're thinking I should put it with the big lumps of moolah from Blind Uncle Len and use it as a house deposit. Yesterday the fund reached £1000. So this weekend we'll stick it in a high-yield tax-free kiddie bond and start all over again. Straight to the hairdressers after school where I got a sticky tropical fruits lolly in return for a grade 2 trim, which I enjoy running my fingers over.

Then yet another of the long list of jobs - hoovering the car. We haven't done it since, well, ever, in fact. Since I bought it we've transported my dead plastic house, bags of compost from B+Q, wood from the pirate ship pub and 4 loads of Elizabeth's dead fence.

So there was lots to hoover and we had to buy the extended hoove-a-thon so we had enough time.

The evening saw the Beavers/Cubs/Scouts AGM which was fairly dull for me so the kiddies absconded to play paper aeroplanes. George from my class got the Scout leaders' bronze badge and we didn't win anything on the raffle. They will have a stall on the Picnic on the Green (by St James' mad hospital) on Sat 2nd of June so we ought to go to that, I'm sure to meet several people I know on the fire engine like last year.

There is 1 vacant position in the Beavers. So if maybe a Ben or similar wanted to join up.....

The contraceptive invader

Woke up and disturbed their cuddle.

Todays' shopping was in Giant Tesco in Havant so Jof could get craft stuff for the Jubilee party. I got yet another Lego Hero but as soon as we were home, I complained once too often and the whole box of Lego Heroes went onto the top shelf of the booze cupboard and didn't come down. I howled.

We'd already invited Ben to Pirate Pete's so that had to go ahead. We met them down there in the lashing storms and got straight to work while Bens' parents shopped. Bud played the role of wandering assassin as usual and we chased each other round and round firing high velocity ballpit balls at each others' bottoms.

We got 2 hours of Piraticals so managed to build a massive den in the soft play area (reserved for 5s and under) and another round of Ball Attack and some enormous cookies covered in smarties before we went our separate ways. We were all pink with exertion. The green sea was roiling and splashing up over the sea wall, the hovercraft was having lots of difficulty again.

Shanks' pony

After filling up the bottlebank, we just kept on walking. We visited 9 charity shops and a church sale, spread from Highland Road to the Bridge centre. We got 2 fancy glasses for the Puddleparents, 5 bath fizzers, 8 toy cars, a wallet and some sweetcorn.

Last time I was at the YMCA, both Erin and Elizabeth had purses, so I sought out a wallet in the Salvation Army shop which has sections for all my credit cards, coins and notes: currently I use it for keeping my Lego heroes fund and all the receipts. I demonstrated my urbane wit by saying I knew all about late-night kebabs on a Saturday after the pub. Meanwhile, Jof went to the hairdressers and had her eyebrows done, so now she has an expression of permanent surprise.

In the afternoon I visited Erin to design T-shirts: here we are wearing our creations.

We danced and pranced and pestered and eventually Erin got the huffs and had to go to bed. Then Bud turned up for Beer'o'clock just as we were going.

At home (with Happy Feet) I had the chinese take-away I've been banging on about for ages and didn't like it.

Bath fizzer night music was donated by ErinsDad - the Stranglers greatest hits. I asked "How did the first man get to be a man?" which turned out to be a complicated question. Bud consumed the final Crunk Juce left over from New Years' eve, it was black and tasted of medicine. Youtube videos: some breakdancers on the NY subway, rhythmic gymnastics and Zep's Stairway to heaven.

Mungleton Mystery Incorporated

It is obvious to me that the summer has been stolen, presumed dead, by persons or agencies unknown. So, a few days ago, I passed the case to my in-house detective agency BRICKPORT, staffed by the following:
Brent Angostura - bitter ex-cop and beer diviner. Can tell 300 kinds of beer apart by looking at the pump alone. Wounded in 3rd vestigial leg 3 days from retirement, he enjoys abusing Jehovah's witnesses and eating doughnuts.
Rockport Fulton - granite-jawed Private Investigator, ex of No Such Agency, now works part-time at the Spanish Inquisition. Allergic to grapes, he always brings his own fireaxe.
Dick Greeting - enthusiastic amateur, abandoned at birth and raised by coypu. Then abandoned by coypu and raised by San Salvadorean missionaries. Former French Foreign Legionnaire, Yemeni slave trader and milliner.
I expect their report any day now.....although it looks like the perpetrators are lying low until the heat's off - we actually got sunshine today

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Grandma and Grandad are going to sell their cars and buy one of those wizzo ones where you can get a wheelchair in the back. She's throwing away the detailed diaries she's kept since the 60's, lucky my diary fits on a data module.

Because of the unexpected sun, I walked to the park with Baby Edward and played football and wrestling with Willow the Mad. So it's not just Erin, then...
First thing I asked was whether we were going to the Pirate Ship Pub for beer.
After swimming, I had half of my supper and went to bed before 8pm with headaches. OK, so we didn't go to Beer'o'clock, but if we had, one wonders whether I'd have been the tetchy type person that'd have picked a fight with my best mates eg Ben. Given that I'm, like, actually, dude, 2 feet shorter than him, like, whatever, it was better that I didn't.

Lester Carry, inventor of the anti-grav trolley

 Today I got into the golden book twice! Once for moving up a reading level to Turquoise, and the other for a well-presented Show'n'tell. I displayed the football tickets from the last home game of the season last Saturday, and a printout of the penalty we conceded on our way out of the Championship division.

Once I'd done final revision for my spelling words, I settled down in front of the TV but was disturbed by: mending my bed.

One of the support slats was somehow broken asunder last Wednesday when the JBs, Ben and myself were under the bed. So Bud brought home a bit of pallet and, instead of burning it, did a "There, I fixed it" unprofessional repair. It'll do the trick.

Later, because we'd cleared all the burnable twigs out of my playhouse, it was good to go. I bravely bashed at it with my battleaxe (sturdy sycamore stave from the forest a couple of weeks ago) while he did the boring pointless stuff like removing screws and support clips.

Eventually I gave it one almighty smack and it collapsed completely in comical circus style. It has done us well for £32 over 3 years and losing it has doubled the size of our garden. We will move on.  

The day of being underwater

This morning I woke up to a changed landscape. Scotland had finally achieved independence and had floated away into the North Sea, Wales had migrated to warmer waters and England had a new wet room to be called "Cornwall". I think to protect against future sea level rises I will spend my pocket money on the penthouse of the "Lipstick" #1 Gunwharf Quays, a snip at only £4 million, but 100 metres above the ground.
Again, like last week, it was obvious that Wednesday park was a nono. Well, it had stopped raining but the ground was waterlogged so Jof thought Pirate Pete's would help.

There were only 2 others there - Jack and Lily, a pair of reception years from my school. We stayed in the kiddie area and built dens and threw the surprisingly hard giant lego around. Then I sat in the ballpit and filled the gently sloping exit tunnel with as many balls as possible, as you do.

When my time was up, we visited the hovercraft landing zone just before one took off. The viewing terrace is a wind tunnel at the best of times, today it was difficult to make my way along it.

When the hovercraft tried to take off it blasted stones and shells and spray against the wooden cladding of the pier and I got a bladderwrack in the face. You can see the airborne debris and the exact moment when we quoted Monty Python "Run away! Run away" and bounded off like wind-assisted lunar astronauts.

The one your mother warned you about

 Our washing line has been stringing out a sinecure role and is just hanging on, pegged for redundancy.
Today is payback day for last week when Erin came round to ours for play. We both went straight round to hers and got started on "Indecision: the Marathon". We followed ErinsMum around from room to room demanding things to do, accepting none of them (even the game of Cafes lasted less than 3 minutes) and making sure she couldn't get any rest. There is a new meme at school which is "DJ": it means cool and the rather complicated gesture (now known to be based on a Snoop Dog pose) is as follows.
1. Gurn like a methamphetamine user who has experienced a sudden loss of oxygen supply to the brain
2. Cross your arms in front of you and extend the index and middle fingers (ie the wrong ones)
3. Say "DJ" in a growly and threatening way.

ErinsMum is not DJ. But Bud is, apparently, and he rescued us from our afternoon of attention deficit sequencing by turning up to collect me. Erin made him a coffee and we paraded through the conservatory room hooting and speaking in tongues. Then bit by bit we did dancing, flashing, prancing, baring, sliding and streaking. Before long we were jumping up and down in a comparative anatomy masterclass. Nudie room? Nudie house, more like. ErinsMum was helpless with mirth. This is the one usable picture, although it tells a thousand words. Then we were chased out of the room because they were trying to discuss optimum departmental size in a university establishment.
Upstairs we went and did some anatomical investigation of our own. I found that she is not built like me and she found she could make me jump by pinging the end. We (the Southsea Willy Waver and the Fratton Fufu Flaunter) returned with our new-found knowledge and started again with the hooting and streaking, eventually the only way to keep us clothed was to leave the building. He says it doesn't matter quite so much while we're only 6 but I wonder how long we can keep it up. Er.

Red hair and black leather, my favourite colour scheme

Another rude awakening from the late mornings of the weekend. The weather continues to encourage us to de-evolve into amphibians. I'm supposed to be doing fitness training in the park with the Beavers today, lucky that Beavers are accomplished swimmers.
Once we'd waded home, I did my spelling and bicycle homework for Grandad and then helped Bud make CrackleBombs.
These special items, invented by Ben and myself, are a cunning mixture of natural and manufactured components. First get your giant clingfilm inner tube, then shove loads of dried evergreen twigs (with leaves still attached) into both ends of the tube, enough to wedge it in place. Favourite tree for these purposes - Bay tree, but all manner of firs, holly, Xmas tree, eucalyptus etc are all just as good, and in fact variety helps it all along. Then once completely dried, these go on the bonfire and go up in a frantic incendiary crackle-storm of igniting oils and waxes from the leaves. We now have 9 for the next PuddleParty and this frees up my plastic house for destruction which will mean more space in the garden and we're too old for it anyway.
At Beavertime the park was a soggy quagmire with vast puddles. I am an experienced Puddler so didn't drown but it meant that the promised fitness training was off. Three Beavers got badges today, 2 got bronze leader's awards for getting 6 challenge square badges, and then Jake got promoted to cubs when 2 "Sixer" cubs jumped him across a plastic river. Yes, it's complicated.
Bedtime saw the return of the post-exercise leg pains and a howl-in-the-shower. It never takes long for the kiddie ibuprofen to work but then Jof went on the NHS Direct website to get advice about preventing re-occurrence and got locked into an urgent callback from a qualified nurse. Jof actually had to phone them to cancel the call. They are more trouble than they're worth.

Bribery and corruption

Another 930 start to the day and why not. Jof is going to the PuddleMummies cake'n'coffee extravaganza (these girlies sure know how to live) so to make up for it she got me a Lego Yellow Truck. While he ran in the rain I built it as per spec, my favourite part is the driver's coffee mug.
Will it ever stop raining?
Grandma is getting used to life at home. The house is full of contraptions and robots and grab handles and things to help her move around and the nurse that puts her to bed came right in the middle of supper, so not so much fun being under everyone else's control.

The last home game of the season

On Friday I brought home an invitation from Portsmouth Football Club saying I could go to the last home game of the season for £1, and bring a pet adult for £10. This was too good to miss so we sauntered round to their office at the allotted time and got in a queue where I saw Teddy from my class and at least 1 other from my school. Having got the tickets, we delivered 4 more tubes and some seedlings to Erin who was just getting back from swimming. Jof has bought a very large candle-lantern thing to go in the garden during Puddleparties for only £37, cheap at half the price.

At Zero-hour we joined the throngs of fans heading to the stadium where we met Ansah, LittleMax, all the Teddies and several others from my school who had had the same idea. We were near the Derbies who were safe from relegation and had many balloons and inflatable guitars and so forth: many were wearing pink dressing gowns and they threw a blow-up sheep to each other and made complicated hand movements and rude gestures at us.

The seat boings up if you don't sit on it so that is why I fell off my own chair many times. We all sang many songs, my favourite was the Der-der Der-der song because I could remember the words: one of the Derby players was called Wayne Kerr because all the Pompies shouted his name and booed him every time he got the ball. Many bad words were spoken in the stadium but not near us really, our bit was full of kids, so my vocabulary hasn't increased.

At one point we were waiting to take a free kick when a drunk man from the crowd jumped over the fence and bimbled out into the middle and tried to take the free kick for us. He was escorted off and 3 large stewards in orange tops met him at the side and told him he couldn't come back ever. It did make everyone laugh.

I was a bit short to see past the people in the row in front and haven't necessarily got a comprehensive understanding of the game but it was a groovy experience, especially for only £1. The goals against us and the fact that Bristol won made us go down a division, we shall play next year in the 3rd, against luminaries of the game such as Hartlepool and Yeovil.

As soon as we got home Jof said don't look in the dining room, so I did. We have finally killed a mouse. After months of setting traps and getting nothing we put the poisoned blue barley out for them and they came back night after night to feast upon its deadly goodness. At last we have outwitted a small rodent. Looking back, it's obvoius that the Milton Mouse Massive have been having pest parties and rodent raves for ages, we'll know next time.
Then Bud ran to the pub for the PuddleDaddies beer festival; they consumed much Vitamin Beer in a display of bravado and bibulosity, and talked about ships and football again, for that is all that 2 of them know about. In retaliation for this wanton act of independence, the PuddleMummies have booked - an afternoon in a trendy cafe eating cake and bintering. Bintering is the female equivalent of bantering and Mr JoniBobs is proud to have got this word added to Roger's Profanisaurus.
Bud was still home in time for bath fizzer night and then I watched Torvill and Dean win 6.0 medals.

Johnny B Keeper, inventor of the bellringer's lathe

School today is on blue day - we raised £275 for the Tom Prince cancer trust so I got to wear mufti. The junior school did a song and dance thing in the playground so we watched through the fence at playtime, I saw Poppy C and Rosie do their thing.

Happy Friday! On a promise for a Beer'O'clock at Erin's place, much warmer than the pub garden, especially when it rains. That little cabin in the pirate ship isn't watertight, the whole thing's a little unseaworthy as the prow and main hull are a few feet apart.  At school pickup time yesterday, Erin specifically asked for the attendees to only be girls, but I was OK as I'm the most sensible boy. Does this mean I'm an honorary girl, or that I'm the one boy they can do business with? Am I being friendzoned at 6 or singled out as the man to be with?

The weather is unpredictable. It can be raining yet sunny, and vice versa. After school we dodged the sunbeams and ran straight to the park to try out my special new item. You know mouse balls - the heavy rubber-coated ball bearings from the underside of computer mice (not rodentiform reproductive organs), I have many of these for purposes unknown. Well, there was another type, a "static mouse" with a giant rollerball topside and the usual buttons. One was in the recycling bin at Buds' work so he nabbed it and extricated the ball. It's like a small snooker ball, and very good for rolling down the yellow curly slide and the long metal slide. We did that until the gap in the rainstorms had gone, for these are the things you do when you don't know any better.

We arrived at Erins in the rain. Johnny had brought his friend Logan who was even bigger and we all rushed upstairs to play Jumping from the bed onto the beanbag and Wrestling. These always sound like a good idea, after all, we managed to break my bed while jumping, and I might be a roary little chap but I'm the smallest so wrestling is a risk and ErinsDad thought the ceiling was going to break. Johnny crumped on me so I howled. Erin saw 4 burly chaps destroying her room and not obeying the rules so she howled.

Ben got me in the willy so I howled. Erin said she once got kicked in the Fufu but I don't think it could be as painful, after all, isn't the Fufu an African local dignitary? Ben spanked Erin on the bot so she howled, he got told off so he howled. Elizabeth laughed at us all and didn't howl, for she had her howl surgically removed at birth. Johnny wouldn't stop so he howled when he was taken home on an "I warned you" third warning. That did mean that the very pugnacious Logan went as well, so that made it better, but a crying shame (hoho) that they had to go. Then we played dens and racing cars and running up and down pestering the parents and all the usual little things. The PuddleDaddies hid in the kitchen with the lights off and talked about which pub was going bankrupt next and the PuddleMummies hid in the front room with the door shut and talked about cushion covers. We found them all and reminded them of our moral superiority every 3 minutes.

Later we reprised the famous Billy Goats MacGuff stage spectacle using only 1 small Elizabeth and a rug. I have had my 15 minutes of fame playing the lead role so made way for new talent and played the bridge.

Busy being god

So this afternoon I was busy being omnipotent again. I have already created a world (here's one I made earlier), it's kinda this big by that big and it's got a path down the middle and flowerbeds on either side. I said, let there be light, and hey presto. I find it easiest to wait until spring to make this godly commandment. As resident deity, I decide who lives: I have already made some inhabitants for my pet world - those apple trees I planted a few years ago - and I also got some Verbenas from B+Q a couple of weeks ago. I also get to decide who dies in a jealous and vicious way - I do enjoy crunching snails beneath the feet of my advancing armies (light-up trainers) but sometimes it's easier to send out my armadas of doom (little blue poison pellets). Also, as divine being, I can make it rain; I simply use my magic hosepipe. I also consign dead sticks and stuff to my own personal Fires Of Hell™ but due to scheduling, I'm not due to actually light the bonfire for another few weeks. Weeds, once detected, I pull from their places in the promised land and cast them upon the compost heap to die of thirst and fungus. I decree sulphur and brimstone but mostly on about November 5th.

It's great to be the god.
In other news, Grandma is home from the hospital and is finding it tough. Grandad messed up the supper a bit last night but I'm sure they'll work it out.
This afternoon was a peaceful one with no visitors, just spelling tests and Lego Heroes. Sometimes even a god needs time out. I even got a few games of ludo/snakes + ladders in with Bud before Monopoly restarted. We have now used up all the pubs (hotels) and it's a high-stakes game.
All the way through my shower I sang my new song "Have a farty, load it up....".

Tad Pole, inventor of the Larva lamp

Grandma is due out of hospital today, hope she doesn't get washed away by thunderstorms.
Because of the weather, it was pretty obvious that Wednesday Park was off. So it was lucky (or suspicious) that Bud and BensMum were driving down the Eastern Road together and were able to wind down their windows and arrange to come round to our place just by shouting and gesticulating. Who needs mobile phones anyway?
So Ben and the JBs arrived at normal park time and we started straightaway on the lego heroes and lego electric train while the olds talked.

Without prior arrangement we took jaffa cakes, chocolate minirolls, apples, yogurts and eventually cucumber (you can't help thinking that given enough time, an infinite number of Mungles would make a roast chicken dinner) to fuel our evil desires and played running the gauntlet and standing on the kitchen worksurfaces and making dens and so on.

In the end one of the support slats under my bed was broken, quite possibly by the combined weight of 4 bouncing boys. And I thought I'd first do that with Pops (because we bounce on my bed, what did you think?)

Once they'd gone (all in the JBs' car as BensMum has a puncture, as well as a new teaching job), I played more Monopoly with Jof, the rent bills are now in the £900 region so quite hairy.

Pikachu, any chu - the key issues

The English are a generous type; if one finds an item of lost property, he will display it in a prominent location for the erstwhile owner to retrieve, even long after all such hope has gone.

Thus, on a sunny autumn day at the car park by the rambling forest you can see a fence adorned with a million single childrens' gloves, the odd pink bootie and if you're really lucky, an abandoned child, some of which have clearly been there for months with their integral bird's nests or crop of mushrooms.

A few days ago, a bunch of keys were left on our gatepost by some well-meaning traveller. This is all very well but since then we have had a procession of people (some foreign) ringing our doorbell asking if we've lost our keys. The latest one admitted he'd tried them on a few cars, so we have elected to do the Right Thing and hand them in to the Keystone Cops.

Directly from school I got Erin back to mine for lego play while the olds talked plants. She can fit a strawberry Maoam up both nostrils at once, Mmm. Then (on a promise for a return visit next week) she went home to do homework, something I'll never have to do. Bud and I drove to the Police Station which was closed, I guess they just don't have crime here, so instead we visited the big main station which had a very creaky door and bulletproof glass. They accepted the keys from us with the minimum of fuss and we made our way back through the on-off monsoons (aprés moi le deluge).
That just left the homework I'd hoped to avoid. I tried it all, crying, saying I didn't understand, asking him to do it for me, procrastinating in the hope that Jof would do it for me, saying I was hungry but would only eat in front of the TV, and many others. This is why it took over an hour again, there are too many words. When I grow up, I shall be a Tragic Actor, for I am great at melodramatic histrionics. And I shall act in silent movies (which are making a comeback) for I won't have to read the script - no lines.

The transcendental biscuit of deliverance vs the scone of fury

Back to the grindstone along with all the other slackers. I have failed to learn my spelling words for the week, and the book comprehension sheet remains empty. And then I'm going to have to tell the scoutmaster that I've lost my woggle, and that Nanna hasn't sewn on my new badges.
But at least I had a good time.
Upon returning home, I did 20 minutes' work on the comprehension etc. That is, until I moaned and fluffed and sulked and argued so much it took an hour and 20 minutes. I bet nobody else has to do this. I can't wait until I'm away at big school and I can be shot of his 'encouragement' forever, no work, can't wait. If he wants it done so badly, why doesn't he just do it?
Another enjoyable Beaver Patrol once the dancing girlies had put away those dratted ribbons-on-sticks, then supper II and more Monopoly. There is a chance I could actually lose his one.
At bedtime I announced that I didn't need to learn to read because I can just look at the pictures. In a book with no pictures, I can simply read the title and solve it from there. Like giving self-raising flour to an orphan.

Elpha Leather, inventor of the Napalm Enema

Breakfasted regally on scrambled egg and black pudding. Today is Box 7 destruction day as it's back to reality tomorrow and we need the room back. We used a serrated bread knife to chop it into bits. Then, just as I was settling down into my TV viewing life, Pops knocked on my door and we cycled round and round the park. Baby Edward's Grade 2 haircut is nothing of the sort, he practically still needs a haircut, I guess mothers just can't let go.

During another marathon TV session, Bud switched it off and told me to go and read a book. What's the point of reading? If it doesn't have a name like Black Phantom I don't want it, just because he could read when he was 3 doesn't mean I'll ever need to. So I hid under my bed.

Box 7 flamed brightly but briefly, as is the way with cardboard houses. Jof played me at Monopoly but also made me read 2 books.

Sowing the seeds of plus ça change

At Grandma and Grandad's house we cleared out their seed collection. Many of the packets had use-by dates stretching back to 1991, not sure of the yield you should expect from something 21 years past its sow-by date. There were also plenty whose packets were printed before they invented use-by dates, and some illegible ones. We buried them all in the topsoil of our best flowerbeds with a short prayer and a quick dance. There are 22 species of flower blooming in our garden right now, not sure if the additions from Grandma will change that.

For exercise I did circuits and bumps in the park and took advantage of an empty skatepark to practice my moves - see the height I can now attain on the jump ramp.

Ben has late-onset grandparents so will miss Box 7, but I had a pre-arranged date with the Pops. Well woof my tweeter with a Taiwanese rumblefilter, but she wasn't in.

Second attempts are often more successful and we went to the park for swinging and tree climbing. Pops and I have a bit of trouble agreeing on activities so there was a lot of indecision, and by the third tree there was a lot of dog poo.

We were just talking about how much poo there was when 2 labradors came and added to the poo population right in front of us.

They looked quizzically at us as we barked and howled at them. Pops knows a related word that sounds like sheet but she read it off a T-shirt. I still consider bum to be my worst word but there are others I use in normal conversation, not knowing they're supposed to be bad.

At home we had ice creams and played lego trains and couldn't decide what to do next apart from eat minicheddars and hot cross buns.

Meanwhile, Jof has taught herself to use the sewing machine using only 17 complicated swear words and a manual hand-drawn in 1836.
In the end, our what-to-do-next conundrum was solved when we put all the cups on the roof of Box 7 and knocked them all off again. We did this several times before going upstairs to bounce on my bed.

While we were in the park, PopsDad walked past with Baby Edward (2) and Bud said get your hair cut, soldier, because he says that to everyone with more hair than him (everyone). PopsDad thought this was a good idea (don't listen to a word he says) and took him to the local barber that I use for a sensible grade 2 just like me. This got him in the Doghouse with PopsMum, who had not expected Baby Edward to have a trim until he was at least 4. At five something, PopsDad came round to collect her. I did my best penitent beg (full-on sinner-at-the-altar job) and due to the forcefulness of my personality it was agreed she should stay for dinner, and PopsDad left empty-handed. He is not having a Good Day. We were having a great day, however, with a fish supper and Fab Ice Lollies to follow, having utterly trashed my room.

Mungle Ton and the Mexican carwash

Got up early for breakfast: I don't like marmalade. First up, a tour of the estate and then a 2 and a half mile walk up the hill and right round past both dairies and down the D-road mudslide. At the top, Grandad said can you read the roadsign pointing to the next village. It was 2 and a half miles so I had trouble construing the digits: Bud put his hand over the 1/2 and said can you read it now. I confidently read it as 2. Then the 1/2 fell off in his hand, honest, yerronner. This is clearly vandalism of council property and we couldn't glue it back on so from now on, an official Dorset roadsign is a lie. We laughed at him.

Took a trip into town to visit the charity shops that were closed yesterday and bought 2 skeins of wool for Jof - is this what we have come to etc. Then we did the playpark that has a decent skatepark with lots of boys showing off their scooter moves to the uninterested girlies and I did the obstacle course.



Shhh.... don't tell anyone

 Then we approached the hospital outside of official visiting hours, and with heads down, we walked confidently through the ward corridor, quietly but quickly, making no eye contact, speaking to nobody and looking like we knew what we were doing, a classic infiltration move.

 We reached our objective due to being invisible and had said goodbye to Grandma before we were rumbled by the nurse and had to go. This is valuable secret agent training, he didn't tell me where he was taught this.

 Home via delays caused by 2 accidents on the motorway, it kept raining on and off (Mexican carwash). We got home in time for swimming and big hugs with Jof.

Incidentally, should anyone disbelieve that this is me, here is another picture of me on the same bed aged 5 months.

Good Housekeeping

On the way to Oo-Ar land, we stopped on the top of a hill for a picture and I fell into a patch of stinging nettles. Just goes to show, the countryside is absolutely beautiful but there is a sting in the tail.

Today we visited Grandma in hospital, rediscovered a swingpark with giant slide and roundabout, and found that all the charity shops close really early. This picture is of the historical monk's conduit (Monkey bathroom) from 500 years ago or similar which is why it's groovy but a bit knackered. In the physiotherapy room (house of torture implements) I tried out the usual walking frames and the practice staircase in the corner.

Grandma will be coming home within the week so when we got back, Bud moved her desk around so she'd be able to park her wheelchair in front of it.

This is what we found when doing it:

1. A stack of Good Housekeeping magazines stretching back to 2005
2. Ditto "Dorset" magazine circa 2002
3. A heartwarming collection of empty used envelopes
4. Itineraries, paperwork and press cuttings from holidays over the last 20 years

Following that there was only the traditional obligatory 3 1/2 mile drive back into town to buy milk and then a lot of rain. 

Jof has been battling mice again and has mixed lots of poison with some chocolate mouse-mousse in the hope they like chocolate as much as I do.