Apologies for the lack of posts recently. Give me another week and I will be back with more nappy nights, pre- teen blights, all-new Co/op ( correctly renamed Copo by @ Craftwords) bites, cortisone in the elbow plights and trying to book before they are two free flights.
I’ve been to Japanese Festivals and 80s nights. I’ve been to two capital cities and failed to find a coffee better than Fusion Deli and a brownie to match And the Dish Ran Away with the Spoon.
I have fallen asleep standing up dreamed of being Bill Murray’s pal in Lost In Translation Tokyo and discussed Hipp Organic v Home Cooked with a master chef.
Tonight proved a microcosm of my thwarted attempts to blog. As Carrie Matheson and Saul Berenson said goodnight I planned a couple of hours writing Homeland quality masterpieces in between work proposals.
First the mighty headed boy ( now a spit of 70s football icon Francis Lee) coughed himself awake. Armed with Benilyn and love I cooed him to sleep but the creaking of my knees awoke Princess Pearlyhead whose lungs are developing nicely. I eventually made it downstairs where I could swear I heard music. Didsbury Son ‘s alarm had gone off at midnight. He slept through, blissfully purring as some aimless quiffed British Bieber warbled on. He slept, but he managed to wake everyone else. Karma. – you owe me one.