Breakthru

Last night at showertime I finally achieved Purple Sausage Breakthrough. This is a pivotal moment in the life of every man, as only us chaps can fully appreciate. I know that Ben was way ahead of me on this, having surprised his Grandma at the dinner table a year and a half ago (see his Mums' reaction) by showing it off. When Jof came to say goodnight I told her I wanted to show her something new I can do with my willy, but she refused to turn the light back on and said I was procrastinating. I'm sure that's not the word. Maybe I'll show Erin when she comes round this afternoon, we've been working up to that anyway.

In fact, given that this came a single day after my first wobbly tooth, perhaps old age is catching up with me. All I have to look forward to is urges, sproutages and, subsequently, mortgages.

Yup. Erin had barely got the train track out when I got mine out and showed her my new trick. She was intrigued and asked for a repeat performance.

We left the track scattered everywhere and moved onto dens, reusing any stray items such as blankets and pillows and did roleplay in which my title was Sergeant Nipple and she was Mrs Nipple, which is a bit limiting for a future Prime Minister.

But then BensMum phoned from the park to say where was I and off we all went. The mummies sat and talked while we chased and were chased, until Ben noticed an empty basket alert. We piled in and were swinging noisily when the trouble started. They were screaming so much I couldn't do my joke about how my bottom was going to vomit, so I howled. After a restart, we all shuffled about so much that my bottom hurt, Erin said her foofoo hurt and Ben accidentally kicked me in the face but then got sad that we left him alone so all 3 of us were howling.

Chocolate cured all and we were by the little hill when the JBs arrived and the 4 usual suspects started playing Lego Hero attack, leaving Erin with Bud. When she got terminal bladder distension we were forced to go, which suited ErinsMum and then Erin could finish her Wales flag at our place. But on the pavement outside was a Pops, who'd seen us from the car and so she slid directly into Erins' place in the den and as soon as wife #1 had gone (Mrs Nipple), Pops and I were married and denning it up. My job seemed to be either sleeping with her, eating her many breakfasts or going to work. She played the role of housewife, which is a bit limiting for a supermodel.

And every night she got fraught that I wasn't home early enough because I was spending too much time in the pub. They say the future is not set but our lives seem to be mapped out already, where do we get these stereotypes from?

This makes for practically a full Puddle house today, lucky me. Later I played hangman with Jof but my spelling's a little variable so there may have been some miscarriages of justice.