This blog uses a minimum of 60% recycled words

Up at the crack of 10am as is usual for a weekend but launched straight into "Doo-doo-doo" which is my favourite song when in a hurry. While parking near the gym at Millie'n'Ruby's school, we saw a house where the people had piled up all their dead bottles and cans in the window. One of the cans was called 'Crunk Juce'. Note to self: buy some for the next PuddleParty. I assume it makes your mouth go crunk when you drink it, could be funny.

After lunch we all did the bottlebank/Tunnel park circuit: I bought a 9th-hand truck from the charity shop for 20p and we met Baby Edward taking his parents for a walk and also Charlie and Lola (Poppy's friends, not some TV cartoon characters brought to life in some kind of bizarre Red Dwarf-style transporter error). But then Jof accompanied me to the public toilets. When lifting me up to get to the all-in-one handwash station, I jumped up just when she was bending down and headbutted her in the jaw. She bit a big chunk out of her tongue and made a lot of angry yet burbly noises as she used her own blood to colour a hanky completely red. I drove my truck around the railway track while she healed.

Then he went for a run while we visited Baffins to look in the fancy dress shops. Jof bought a long blonde wig so that people would think she's clever: I guess her own hair just isn't long enough. I salivated merrily over the many costume possibilities and ended up with a red Indian suit with real authentic bow and arrow. OK, so they're not red and they're not Indian, so I suppose it's a generic standardised patronising ersatz native American costume. But I'm calling it red Indian.

Bath fizzer night was a quiet affair. I used only 7 different fizzers to make my bath purplish. My potion was: AntiRobot KillMixture: Blackberry and apple pie with secret ingredients: eyeballs, ground glass, skin, pot of poison, seaweed marinated in seawater, carrots, swimming trunks, pot of fire and 200 lids of water. I stated clearly and without encouragement that I was a double agent pretending to be on their side but secretly working against them. I'd have a promising future career in spook-ism if only I hadn't told him. Then we pinged ping-pong balls at each other to the tune of the Magnificent 7 until bedtime (I got him on the nose and in the left eye, lucky he was wearing safety specs).