Wool!

Some of my house fund is in the bank. But I don't pay tax on my earnings because I'm only 8. When clever Jof noticed that I was getting taxed on my Mungle Millions, it was an excuse to go into town and berate the bad bankers.
The nice bank lady said sorry about that, I'll bung you £15 for your trouble and promise not to tax you again. This left us free to explore the world around us.
In Lush (the bath fizzer shop supreme) they have a new product. Pink, heart-shaped and on sale for a mere £6.95, the "Love Locket" was outside my price range, but maybe next birthday...yes, it does look a bit like Love Locust. But it isn't.
Victoria Park has many wooden climbing things amongst the soggy quagmires and I seriously wedgied myself on the rope clambering nets.
Up against the railway embankment the constant rains have left us a lake to throw sticks into, the poor old squirrels (ask a German to pronounce that) thought we were potential food-providers but we were only mental ripple-creators.
I demanded a Francais-Anglais dictionary in the charity shop and I bought 2 films about aliens and predators, sounded great. Rebecca's Pantry is my favourite place for Horse-Willy sausage and chips and I quizzed Bud on his knowledge of Franglais all the way home.
We discovered that as part of Jof's housework during our 4-hour excursion, she had written a short story about wool, as you do. She hopes to get published in a magazine for Romantically Challenged Ladies Of a Certain Age, called Woman's Weekly Fiction.
She says the authors in there can't write for toffee (would have thought you'd have chosen something more useful) and she could do better. Good luck, Our Jof! Can't wait to buy next month's publication and to find out what happened to the wool! I hope she's spun a good yarn and the sheepish publishers don't fleece her, maybe she'll get a blanket payment.
Later we just did our own thing, Jof tidied up her first novel, I made a secret notebook of natural disasters and Bud did an inventory of the artefacts in the glass-topped table.
It's pretty cold so Jof said let's light the fire. Sadly the wooden rocking chair we found on the pavement (yes) isn't dry yet so we had to make do with bits of old pallet and floorboard. The chair looks good. But it's terminally unsafe, it's only pretending to be held together, so I can't sit on the front porch rockin' like old Grandpappy used to back in Alabam'.