Sunday, 19 May 2013


This blog is written in a very... particular style. It is pretentious. Not deliberately, but that is how it seems to have developed. Something about writing epic poetry and talking about the development of language and human beings lends itself to a wordy, verbose and otherwise impenetrable mess of words.

However, there are antidotes. They are called children.

Do you need to read more?

In the interests of prostituting my spawn for the amusement of faceless masses on the intertubes I submit the following conversation with recently verbal Boy:

Him, as I change his nappy: "Mine legs not big wike WooWoo's legs." WooWoo is his name for the Girlie.

"No, your legs are not as big as her's," I agree, it's safer that way and, besides, it's true, she's older than he is.

"Mine legs small." He is currently experiencing anxiety about getting big, he has said he would like to remain small as long as possible. Bless. "WooWoo not wear nappies wike bee, mine wear nappies. WooWoo not."

"No, that's true."

"Mummy wear nappies wike bee, but WooWoo not wear nappies. Mummy wear nappies."

"Er... No, I don't think-" the penny dropped. "Ah, yes. Well, they aren't nappies, Boy, they are for Mummys when they... need... them."

"Nappies wike bee!" Oh, yes, 'bee' is his name for himself.

Sure enough, Milady remembered recently taking Boy into the loos with her and indeed applying the relevant article. Cue much beet-redness on her face and me giggling and snorting.

Can we tell it's the day after Eurovision when we both go a little silly? I think we can. Must buy the CD.

Also, Romania!

Why did she go to such trouble with a false beard?

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