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Awoken this morning by the sound of car windscreens being scraped, the first time this year. Now I know that everyone else has had loads of frost already and Texas is having an ice-storm, but Portsea Island sits on a little Yellowstone Super-Volcano-a-like and we're always warmer.
So. Tried to book up my birthday party (inflatable pool party like the stupendous time we had at the Scouts party) but the inflatable has a hole in it, must be a guilty-looking elephant somewhere. Don't these people know who I am? Get out your puncture repair kit immediately!
Bud's work Xmas dinner (like mine yesterday, just not at Los Iguanos) was Latino with unexpected mustard flavour and incessantly boisterous Brazilian happiness music with nifty hairdos. Thus I went home with Pops to be samba-free.
I refused to be collected at 5pm and stayed on for supper. I had double helpings of spaghetti and meat and extra chocolate from Mrs Pops, (if she was 33 years younger etc).
We did the whole of her road, all the shops and curry houses and florists and chip shops and then all the way back up and down my road until we'd run out, and we'd started with loads. We loved it and wanted to do more, PopsMum says she'll pick me up tomorrow to do more. Some letterboxes have brushes inside that eat your hand, some have dogs ditto, some have unexpected humans, it's a laugh-a-minute in the flyer business.
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