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.