House of the rising son

He got up first and had breakfast. Then I stirred and visited Jof. She stirred and received tea. Then she went to church, or, at least, said O god O god down the toilet. I am not sure that god lives down the toilet, but maybe the subterranean sewer network is a big white telephone to god. She believes that the pink drinks she had at the pub last night were poisoned.

Because Jof wanted more sleep Bud tempted me out of the house with the promise of new and interesting parks. Thus we headed off towards Giant Tesco, but not the Havant one, the Paulsgrove one. The park itself was medium to good: lots of climbing and some bonus curly slides.

It is at the bottom of the road that leads to the chalkpit and WW2 radio station. There is also a skatepark so I rolled my bouncy ball down there while some older local youths did scooter tricks. Whenever one fell off, they all called him a Far Keen Bell End which was nice if a little confusing. When asked, Bud opined that they may well have been Australians, for the mangling of the mother tongue by our antipodean cousins is well known. We found some coins, many beer cans in the woods and some magic mushrooms.

Tesco is very big. But even though I went on and on about how much I deserved it, he didn't get me any Lego. I will now have to save up by getting Golden Book awards etc, what is the world coming to when you have to work for something.

Back at the ranch, Jof resurfaced for a bacon sarnie in bed, and by 4pm she was up and changing the TV channel from Scooby-Doo to cricket. Our antipodean cousins got over 250 runs in their 50 overs, but I didn't hear anything about the ending of bells, however keen or far.
At 5 Pops came to pick me up. There's no better pick-me-up than Pops, maybe Jof could get one. PopsDad has weights for weightlifting so I did some arm exercises.