#2 son, aged about 5, when we went on the Chunnel, eagerly waited for us to set off anticipating seeing fish, & hoctipussies, shipwrecks & scuba divers.
In fact, the whole Bedknobs & Broomsticks deal.
Gosh he was disappointed.
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We missed a memorable (for everybody else) eclipse by travelling through the Chunnel. Both of our teenies were a bit cross.
Soo xx
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“Well, could you still see the sun? No? Then stop bloody whining!” < clippity round the lug’ole >
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Wonderful advice, Gus. Just a few years too late…
Gin?
Soo xx
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Yes please. You were talking to me, weren’t you?
I deserve it anyway, today I went all the way round the house with a cobweb brush. How industrious is that?
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Very industrious, Darling.
I’ll share, nicely.
Soo xx
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Yeah, I should probably do that. [remains firmly seated, contemplating gin - for which much thanks, wee Bee]
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Wot mystifies me is that the entire house seemed to be wreathed in cobwebs, yet I hardly ever see a spider. How can this be?
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Check the mister for spinnerets, dere.
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That Fish (driving): “what is this cobweb brush of which you speak?”
We are now out of Welsh Wales, very pretty but somewhat lacking in toilets open so late as Archers-time on a weekday evening.
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It often takes me that way too.
I trust there was a successful conclusion to your Quest. Wales is very good at having large expanses devoid of [whatever might be required at any given time]. Strong on rain, though: can’t fault it there.
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We found an England, where loos were readily available. (As opposed to “pay to park and then discover that the loo has been padlocked for the night”, which was what they wanted us to do in Wales. But we were wise to these bandit tricks.)
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They work nightshifts.
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I’m buzzing in to wish Carinthia safe travels for tomorow.
Also, to scoop up as many tankers’ full of gin as might be available. I am a political bee and am drowning, a bit.
Good nights, Cellarites,
Soo xx
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We’m home.
[ginnity] [flumpity]
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I haven’t really go my head around current politics, Soo
Am just waiting fer the next shoe to drop…
Welcome home to the Fishly-Dunnocks
Carinthia.xx
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Yay! And [snority], I should imagine.
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Where do I complain to The Management? Bleedin’ 'ell, there are limits to what even the most peaceable Gus will brook.
Feeling less than chipper for some reason, very much not so in fact, which is neither here nor there; or rather, it wasn’t until I put my bare hoof on a fine well-fatted slug biffing around on the kitchen floor. When I say ‘put my foot’, the monster was undamaged - it was the merest touch and I recoiled like billy-o. Encouraged the brute into a spoon and flung him far into the night. Scrubbed slug-slime off spoon. Scrubbed slug-slime off floor. Did some quality shuddering. Now having a Little Drink.
Cobwebs? Nah, I’ll happily coexist with the cobwebs and the little friends who make them. Had a doughty crew of spiders on the boat and got quite fond of some of them, when I was expecting to see them.
I Do Not Do Slugs.
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Morning all
Bacon butties are served
Gus
Once after a long journey with NO stops I raced to the toilet and proceedings had started ere I reallised that my posterior was cod and wet
As I was unable to investigate until I had finished the cold wetness remained uninvestigated for a while
Then I found a very very flat slug’s mortal remains on the toilet seat and my bum
I were very very disconcerted by this and required numerous wet wipes and squooodles of gin to recover my equilibrium
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