Bit dozy this morning because I stayed up late playing computer games (Phineas and Ferb mole-tunnel attack, available via the Disney website).
Late into school as a result.
This afternoon we got Great-Grandad's uniform down from the loft. There are so many straps and belts and lassoos and clips and epaulettes and unexplained buckles and cummerbunds, we put most of it back because we'd probably end up wearing something backwards and mortally offend his ghost. (Or should that be immortally offend?)
As soon as we opened his old tin trunk, there was a massive smell of mothballs. I was not aware that insectoid gonads were so aromatic, anosmia must be a distinct advantage in Lepidopterist circles.
We spent so much time looking at the straps that we left a little late for gymnastics. Then it took us 20 minutes to circumnavigate a single roundabout at the bottom of the M275 and we ended up being quarter of an hour late. You have no idea how annoying it is sitting in a stationary traffic queue listening to the total inane Miranda* of the afternoon radio show and watching the minutes drip away on the in-car clock. Naughty Nicola and Bradley and William distracted me again so I still didn't get a badge. But I did command my battalion to fire at the enemy dugouts. I shall do this more often when I'm President of Earth.
At showertime, I said "You can't stick carrots up my bum, I'm not even a teenager". The jury is out as to whether this is good, bad or indifferent: but you wonder what I'm learning at school.
At showertime, I said "You can't stick carrots up my bum, I'm not even a teenager". The jury is out as to whether this is good, bad or indifferent: but you wonder what I'm learning at school.
*Miranda Firkin-Bulwarks of the Warwickshire Firkin-Bulwarks. I knew her mother, you know.
I misread your blog and thought you were firing at enemy doughnuts. -thicko carton
ReplyDeleteLucky I didn't mention the enemy's foxholes, then
ReplyDelete