Through my mind she runs

Back to school. Surely those high street outfitter window billboards stating "Bak to Skool" etc are setting a bad example, or does it imply low expectations?

Anyway, at school I got a sticker for turning 6 and we missed 2 playtimes because it was so stormy and rainy outside. Supper was 2 kinds of pasta in cheese sauce with extra cheese, and 2 veg. One of the strings of tagliatelle made a bid for freedom: I grabbed at it but somehow the act of grabbing made my plate pirouette through the air like a Level 5 Pops where it made sticky friends with the carpet like a Level 7 Ben.

There was silence as the Magic Cleaning-up Man salvaged the stricken sauté on behalf of the compost heap and the TV remote disappeared forever into the pocket of unforgiveness.

I was desperate, desolate and derelict as well, why not. When Jof got home a motion to starve me to death in punishment was narrowly defeated 2:1 in a tense vote. And what do you know, he made it all again from scratch, shows that Jof's the boss, I guess.

Later I found the jar of those little solidified droplets of coloured glass that seem to be so popular nowadays and created a King's procession on the Lego railway.
Bud has to start work at 0500 from now on so he may go to bed before me. I shall laugh at him.