News comes to me of Bobby Tufts, a boy in Dorset, Minnesota (pop 28) who was made town mayor at the age of 3. Now he's 4, he is seeking re-election, having spent the year maximising gastro-tourism and promoting ice cream. This guy's doing even better than me.....So after school I discovered that Jof has got a second week under the doctor for sunspots so I expect to take full advantage of her sudden availability, even though she's complaining of a damaged shoulder.
I was supposed to clear all my Lego away because I want to rearrange the furniture in my room. That was my task. The way I went about it was standard for any abandoned 7 year-old boy ie to dance around waving my trousers a la striptease, singing Mirror Mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all while fleaping, gyrating, boogie-ing and twisting to the soundtrack in my head.
We all went swimming ie I swam and learned to dive (1 decent dive, 1 belly flop extraordinaire) while they lost each other in Giant Tesco and bought identical 4 for 3 beer offers, all the more Vitamin B for him.
Back at home, I pretty well populated the CD + DVD shelves myself while she washed up for time = N.[N+1] and he did loft removals-are-slightly-drunk-us.
And then we realised. We have arrived. Not only are we a 2-toilet family. But, because of inheritance, we are a 2-fire irons family. The previous owner kindly left us his fire irons for the only 1 remaining functional front room fire, but we already had the cast-offs from Grandad.
Grandad also allowed us to have his old barometer. Little did we know that the personal effects of Blind Uncle Lens' estate also contained 1 retirement gift barometer from all the good ol' chaps at the munitions ministry. Having scraped along at rock bottom for 25 years, not knowing we even needed a barometer, we have his'n'hers barometers. Holy Poo.
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