Thursday, 7 November 2013

A million little things

I have been told off a couple of times recently for not updating my blog.  Sorry about that.  It's not that I haven't done anything to write about, because I've been up to all sorts.  I have a different kind of problem.

I'm overwhelmed.  Not with a big bad thing.  There is no Big Bad.  Oooooh, it's like season six of Buffy, where they realise that sometimes the badness is just every day stuff that happens *nerd face*

There are just a million tiny little things that I need to get done and I've been feeling so increasingly overwhelmed by my evergrowing to do list, that I've been paralysed and unable to do any of it. To the point where the most reasonable option for the past couple of weeks has been to come straight home from work and hide under my duvet.  It's not very healthy, is it.

Then on Tuesday evening I had a minor breakthrough.  

At least a year ago (probably closer to two), a friend lent me a DVD box set to watch.  I got halfway through it about six months ago and then got busy and didn't watch any more.  Ever since, that box set has been sat there bugging me.  I have been disproportionately distressed by that box set, just sitting there, not being watched.  
Ooooo look at me, sitting here, not being watched
My friend hasn't wanted it back, hasn't hassled me or anything like that.  It was just another thing on my list of things to do that I haven't done.  On Tuesday I had a revelation.  I do not have to watch the rest of that box set.  There is no reason on Earth, why I should have to watch that box set.  No one is making me worry about this.  Phew.  

So on Wednesday morning, I returned it to my friend and immediately felt MUCH BETTER.

So last night I went one step further and deleted my entire to do list.  All of it.  It's mostly tidying up and and housework, nothing on there that will cause death or bad hair days.  So I got rid of the lot.  And felt EVEN better.

Then I put two things on the list.  Just two things.  And I did them this morning.  I hoovered the flat and put away the enormous and evergrowing pile of clean underwear in the drawer where it belongs.

I've now got two more things on the list.  I need to write a blog (*TICK*) and clean the bathroom. 

The paralysis has been broken and it's time to start getting things done again.

Sunday, 30 June 2013

In which I bemoan the nonsense of modern songsters.

It's been a couple of weeks since I've blogged, so you'd think that I'd at least have the decency to make this a good one, wouldn't you.  Well tough luck kids, because I don't really have much to say.  But you've got to learn at some point, it's a tough world out there and you can't always get what you want.  Which reminds me of something that has been playing on my mind a bit recently, in a round about sort of way.

Have you heard that new song by The Wanted?  I didn't really know who they were, so I looked them up. As it turns out, they are a fairly generic British boy band. Not really my thing, but actually not too terrible. Until they recently released a monstrosity of a song called "Walks Like Rihanna".  It seems to be based around the concept that you can be quite generally shit at everything, but it'll be ok if you walk like Rihanna. Riiiiiiiiight.  Does this mean I need to start striding around the place, punctuating my strut with the occasional slut drop on my way over to the office printer?  It's inadvisable.  I suggested it last week on Facebook, my friend gave it a go, and HR are now involved.  I think I'll carry on with my usual plodding gait and be done with it.

This is not the first time that songsters have advised us to do this sort of thing.  Remember when Maroon 5 tried to suggest that it would be a good thing if we all had Moves Like Jagger?  Good lord. The man's about 203 years old. And he moved like he didn't have full control of his limbs when he was in his prime.  Yesterday, a friend of mine commented that he looked like a giant twiglet. This is true.  A twiglet that doesn't have full control of his limbs. And probably tastes considerably less Marmitey, so WHAT'S THE POINT.

And where will this nonsense end?  Will we at some point in the near future be urged to have Hair Like Donald Trump? Toes Like Megan Fox's Thumbs?! (seriously she has toe thumbs, Google it).  Call me old fashioned, but for now I'm going to stick to having Naps Like Your Nana.

Wednesday, 12 June 2013


Memory is a funny thing, isn't it? I have a terrible memory and remember very little of my childhood. I only really recall stories that have been told and retold so many times that the original event is almost meaningless, because the memory lies in the story telling.  But I do remember some really stupid stuff.

It occurred to me today that I cannot recall a single birthday party that I had as a child (unless you count being taken on a plane for the first time on my eleventh birthday, to Paris and my dad MORTIFYING me by speaking to the pilot and getting the entire plane to sing happy birthday to me. Very sweet now, but at the time ground-swallowingly MORTIFYING).

But I vividly remember the vague feeling of surprise that I felt the first time that I saw a picture of Pat Sharp after he'd had his mullet cut off.  I've looked it up. That happened in 1992, so I would have been 14.

I can't remember the names of most of my teachers, even the ones that I liked.  I can't recall the plotlines of books that I have read and sometimes get halfway through a film before faintly realising that I've already seen it.  But I remember very clearly having a dream featuring an evil cartoon milkman who was delivering poisoned milk to everyone.  It was so vivid that for years I was convinced that I'd seen it on TV, but I've never been able to find a reference to it.

I had a dog called Lizzie when I was little, right up until I was nineteen. I struggle to remember her face (mainly because I get Murdoch's furry little mooey superimposed on it whenever I try to conjure it up), or how soft to the touch her fur was.  But if I know a song, I can name it within the first few notes that I hear.

What weird memories do you have?  Or not have? Is your brain as weird as mine?

Tuesday, 21 May 2013

Zombie Hoof

Recently, we have been plagued on our morning walks.

It all started a few weeks back, with the unfortunate death of a young deer. We don't know how the deer died, only that our dogs discovered the carcass and found it irresistible. It may be the most exciting thing they have ever seen, smelt, eaten. To we mere humans, this carcass may appear unutterably disgusting, a foul, stench-ridden harbinger of doom. To our dogs; manna from heaven.

After a while, scavengers had pretty much taken the deer leaving only a few scraps. Which is where our problem began. When we were out in the woods early one morning, we called our dogs away from the area that we knew held the deer remains. They all came, but one was not alone. In her mouth, she held what become known as the highest prize of all. The Zombie Hoof. So called because despite our best efforts to dispose of the Hoof it keeps coming back. 

The Hoof has been thrown in a tree. A short while later it was back in a dog's mouth, being paraded about. 

The Hoof was buried in the woods, but sure enough, a while later there it was. Covered in dirt and dog slobber. The Hoof.  

Quite frankly, our nerves are shot.  I fully expect to be sat at my desk at work, only to suddenly hear a *tap tap tap* at the window. Zombie Hoof!  It's like that bit at the end of the horror movie where the monster JUST REFUSES TO DIE. Except it's already dead. 

It's affecting our lives.  We used to have such lovely conversations on our early walks.  Now they all go a little like this.

"I really liked that butterscotch tart it was totally GAH! Zombie Hoof!"
"Drop it"
"Drop it"
"DROP IT!!!!!"
"Good boy. Now leave it."
"Leave it"

and so on. 

And just when we thought that matters couldn't get any worse, one of the dogs found Zombie Skull this morning......


Tuesday, 16 April 2013


I'm not sure that I have the right words to explain why yesterday’s events in Boston have made me so upset, but I'm going to try.  A non-runner will not fully understand this.  They will be upset by what has happened, and I'm certainly not belittling that.  They will connect with these people at the most basic human level, with the part of all of us that cries out when another being is hurt.  But a non-runner may not know why it is so upsetting that it has happened to these people on this day.

Whenever I've run a marathon, I've had conversations with my non-running friends and have always failed to really make them understand that the 26.2 on the day is the reward.  The pay off for all of the other miles that have been run.  Hours and hours of running spread over months.  Running in the dark.  Running in the cold and the wind and the rain and the mud and the snow.  Running when you don’t really feel like it.  Running when your friends are out at the pub, or tucked up warm in bed on an early Sunday morning in February. 

And that few runners do it alone. 

Those miles have been supported by friends and family.  Those who run with us.  Those who wait patiently at home looking after the kids so that we can go out and train.  Those who understand that for the hundredth time, we’re not going to be coming to the pub / cinema / drinks party.  Because we’re training.  So yesterday should have been the payoff.  Not just for the runners.  But for the friends and family who got to come and support and cheer those runners through the last 26.2 miles of the journey that they have shared together.  It should have been a celebration.  And someone stole that from them.  Not just the people who died or got hurt.  But from all of them.  

So I’m upset.  And quite frankly mad as hell.

I ran a marathon on Sunday in Brighton. I made it safely over the finishing line and got a PB.  My sister, brother in law and my two year old niece were there to support me.  It was a wonderful day, a celebration.
I saw a quote on twitter earlier that I hope we can live up to.  Stay strong, runners.  

If you're trying to defeat the human spirit, marathoners are the wrong group to target

Thursday, 21 March 2013

Quiet Panic

Hey everyone.

I just realised that I have just over three weeks until I run the Brighton Marathon.  I got an email with my race number through today *gulp*.  Hahahaaa.  I'm sure I'll be just fine *gulp*

My main source of panic at the moment is that I kinda forgot that I have a minimum fundraising amount for this one.  I have to raise £400 for Canine Partners, who are a fantastic charity.  You guys know where this is going.


That's right.  I'm at the point of shameless begging.

There are options here.

1.  You can just sponsor me.  Dig deep, you wonderful, generous people and give whatever you can.

2.  You can sponsor my playlist.  I did this last time and got SHAFTED with some unutterable music, so I'm putting a clear pricing structure in place.  Here's how it's going to work.

  • For a mere £5, you can pick a song to go onto my playlist and I will listen to it and think of you and your wonderful generosity while I run 26.2 miles around Brighton on the 14th April.
  • If you donate £10, you can pick three songs.  Woo hoo!

Minor exceptions

Some artists come with a higher price tag, as follows:

  • A minimum donation of £15 for anything by Justin Bieber 
  • A minimum of £20 for anything by Celine Dion, Mariah Carey or anything Michael Jackson did after the Bad album.  

Major exception

If any unkind individual wants me to listen to Earth Song by Michael Jackson, they must sponsor me £50.  That song makes me want to go on a mad axe rampage and if I'm going to listen to it during a marathon, then I want the BIG BUCKS.

I do already have songs ready to go on my playlist, some of them you may recognise from the last time I did this.  That's right.  I'm going to show you all my highly embarrassing marathon playlist.  It's pretty bad.  

Yep. My musical taste pretty much stopped growing in 1987
Most of the songs are on there because they make me feel cheerful, or make me laugh even when I'm feeling pretty low.  Feel free to laugh at me, or express your displeasure in the comments section below.  But even more importantly, sponsor me HERE! and make sure that you let me know which song(s) you want me to add, either on my Justgiving page, here on the blog, or via Facebook or Twitter.  Thanks in advance, you're all wonderful.

Friday, 15 March 2013

Mind the Gap

Sometimes the gap between who I think I am (who I'd like to be?) and who I actually am is huge.

This has been brought home to me in a number of ways recently.

1.  The quinoa conundrum

I'm a bit of a homebody.  I spend a lot of time at home (more on that later), so I'd like to see myself as someone who has the hang of it all.  Someone with a lovely clean, tidy, well put together home, who could welcome people in at the drop of a hat, possibly whipping up a quick batch of scones for them, without smudging my lipstick.  You know the sort of thing.  Nigella Lawson crossed with Kirsty Allsopp.  Well, I'm busty, dammit, so I should be able to pull this off.  And yet, somehow I'm hopeless.  As I sit here on my sofa and type this, I can see mess everywhere.  My washing is drying on the curtain rail in my living room and my knickers are on the radiator.  I wouldn't want to invite anyone here, and I certainly don't have the makings of scones in the cupboard.

What I do have in the cupboard is quinoa.  Lots of it.  I first bought it, oh, about a year ago, cooked some, quite liked it, and then promptly threw it to the back of the cupboard.  A few weeks ago, I bought a book of quinoa recipes from the Book People. It's still in the bag.  I just took it out to take a photo.  Here it is.

So in an attempt to unleash my inner domestic goddess, I am........ [drum roll]........


2.  An intro-version of me.

A couple of weeks ago, B sent me a text message, telling me about a book I had to read.  It's called Quiet: The power of introverts in a world that can't stop talking.  She said that she kept thinking about me as she read it.  I was initially astounded by this statement. Me?  Quiet?! Ahahahahhahaaaaaa!! No, really.  Aaaahahahahhahaaaaaaaaa!  Sorry.  But I trust B, she's amazing and she knows me well.  So I downloaded it to my Kindle and got around to reading it last week.  Well blow me down with a feather.  I'm an introvert. This has never occurred to me before.  Because, well, you know.  I'm quite loud.  And full of quips and banter and things.  But nonetheless, I am quite clearly an introvert.  I prefer low key social situations where I'm with people I know, but even then I often get overwhelmed and need to go, be quiet, regather myself. 

If I'm out with friends, and there is a plan to go to a bar after we've had dinner, I excuse myself and head home.  I am quite clear that I do not want to be in the bar.  It is too much.  It is likely to be loud, with lots going on and it is JUST TOO MUCH.

I'm only about halfway through the book, but it's just fantastic, and I recognise so much of myself in it.  I highly recommend it, if you are introverted (or suspect that you may be!) or you are close to someone who is.

3.  Homework.

I worked from home today.  I have an important presentation next week and wanted to work away from the distractions of the office so that I could focus on the task in hand (interestingly, open plan offices are not ideal for many introverted people, who need space and quiet to function better.  Who knew?).  In my mind, I thought that I'd be quietly sitting and thinking about the requirements of the project, maybe with a pencil lodged quirkily behind my ear.  In my mind, I'm wearing something simple, casual and stylish as I sip a cup of tea and ponder the needs of my client.  I'd be pacing up and down, before suddenly having a moment of inspiration and rushing over to my laptop to type furiously.  Hmmmmm.  In reality, I've spent all day in my hoodie and pyjama bottoms.  Alternately thinking about the client's needs and stuffing mini poppadoms into my gob.  I haven't had a cup of tea all day.  GASP.

But the good news is that I do have a handle on what we're doing for the presentation on Tuesday.  So I guess sometimes, it's not how you get there, but the end result that counts.  Phew.

Tuesday, 26 February 2013

I've got the remedy

Recently I have been trying out various cough and cold remedies that people have suggested on Facebook.  Credulous fool that I am I believe everything that I read on social media (ahahaaa not really) and have been giving these things a go. In my defence  I should like to say that I have now been coughing for nearly a month.  It's become very boring and quite frankly if someone could convince me of the benefits of smearing Murdoch's poo behind my knees, I'd be tempted to give it a go.  So there it is.  I'm trying out stuff so you don't have to. YOU'RE WELCOME.

Crystal menth

Big thanks to my lovely friend Suzie B for this tip.  The real name for this magic substance is menthol crystals, but I've decided to call it crystal menth, to make me sound all cool and edgy.  Yep. Instructions on this are quite simple: 

1.  go to the pharmacy and ask the nice lady behind the counter for some menthol crystals. Mine cost me £1.76. Bargain.
2.  go home
3.  put some hot water in a bowl
4.  put in a few of the menthol crystals - you really don't need many
5.  stick a blanket over your head and prepare to be blown away by the strength of the menthol that you're inhaling
6.  pop your head out of the blanket every now and then to blow your nose. It's likely to be streaming
7.  enjoy the sensation of your lungs opening up, making breathing feel easy for the first time in well over a week
8.  notice that the vapours are fading
9.  feel sad
10.  start jonesing for your next hit of crystal menth
11.  is it too soon to have some more?
12.  how about now?
13.  oh god, I want some more meeennnnnttthhhh
14.  go to menth rehab, it has all become too much

Vapour rub on the feet

I can't remember who posted this one.  I was probably floating about in a crystal menth haze at the time.  Aaaaaah menthol goodness.  I digress.  Anyway, the post said that putting vapour rub on the soles of your feet is supposed to be just as effective as putting it on your chest, leaving you free from coughing and therefore providing you with a lovely night's sleep.  I think that this hint was aimed at children, but given that I'm supremely childish, I thought it might work for me too.  Here's how it works:

1.  slather a huge amount of vapour rub all over the soles of both of your feet
2.  put a bit more on, just for good measure
3.  put on your safety socks, especially if you have laminate flooring like I do.  No point slipping and breaking your neck.  Why not choose a nice cheerful pair like these?
Safety socks
4.  go to bed and wait to see if you stop coughing
5.  lie awake, wondering what sort of witchcraft it is that might make the restorative properties of the vapour rub transfer from your feet to your sinuses.
6.  cough.  Wonder whether it's working AT ALL.
7.  cough less as you drift off to sleep
8.  wake up at 1am
9.  wake up again at 3am
10.  wake up when the alarm goes off at 5.55am.  Ponder the fact that you do indeed seem to be coughing a bit less
11.  note that your feet seem quite nice and soft, thanks to the fact that they have spent all night marinating in nicely scented vasoline (mmmmm meeennnnnnth)
12.  start coughing again

So there we have it.  I'm still coughing.  I haven't been for a run for over two weeks.  But I think I'm nearly at the point where I'll be able to run again without coughing up one (or both) of my lungs, so hopefully this weekend I'll be able to hit the trail again.

If anyone has some other cough remedies they'd like me to try, feel free to let me know in the comments below.  

Thursday, 21 February 2013


You know you're scraping the bottom of the barrel in terms of blog posts when you're reduced to writing about your dreams.  Not your 'hopes and dreams'.  Your actual dreams that you had while you were asleep. Please feel free to stop reading now.  It's not going to get more exciting as we progress.  It's just that I've been poorly.  Nothing serious, just a cold and nasty cough.  Not life threatening, but certainly bad enough to mean that I spent Saturday through to Tuesday this week in bed feeling sorry for myself.  So I've done little else to tell you about, except dream.  Sorry about that.

Firstly a real gem. On Tuesday night, I dreamed that I was sat at my desk in the office eating a Tesco melon and grape medley for breakfast, as I often do.  In my dream I sit there and start to cry, much to the consternation of my colleagues.  I am crying because the melon and grape tub is not as nice as the one I had from Sainsbury's last week.  End.

I wish I was making this up, but that really was it.

Then last night, it was even more banal, if you can believe that.  Yesterday during the day, I spent half an hour looking for my house key.  Couldn't find it.  Went to bed.  Dreamed that the key was in the pocket of a pair of walking trousers that I'd been wearing.  I woke up, looked in the trouser pocket and there was the key!  So I'm a dream psychic, but only of the most boring variety possible.  Still, at least it saves me the bother of getting a new house key cut.

Oh god.  I'm even boring myself with this one.  Also, I think the excessive amount of vapour rub I'm swimming around in has made my head go a bit funny.  So I'm going to leave it there with the dreams, except to say that usually my dreams are much more interesting.  Like the time I dreamed that I was rushed to hospital because I had unrelenting diarrhoea and was told by the doctor in A&E that it was because I was becoming a vampire and my body was therefore rejecting all food.  I woke up saying "Kill me now, I DON'T WANT TO BE A VAMPIRE". So there, you go.  It's not always fruit and house keys.

Lord, I'm really going now.  Please feel free to tell me your most interesting / boring dreams, it's only fair, I promise I won't laugh. 

Wednesday, 20 February 2013

A square peg in a round hole

The first in what may become an occasional series of blog posts, on things in my world that confuse me so much that it makes me wonder if I'm supposed to be here, instead of, say, the 14th century when this sort of malarkey almost certainly didn't exist.

Today's instalment surrounds my workplace toilet.  I know.  Not the most exciting or glamorous of settings, but there you go.

Firstly.  Why do people do this?

Is it significantly more time consuming and stressful to put the new toilet roll on the holder?  Is there a reason that I'm missing why people do not put the new roll on the holder? And perhaps the most burning question of all.  Do they do this at home????  

Secondly.  Why does our liquid hand soap have an expiration date?  

What will happen if we try to use it after it expires?  Will it represent a Health and Safety hazard?  Will we spontaneously combust?!

So many questions. So much confusion.

Thursday, 14 February 2013


Despite the fact that I inadvertently dressed myself like a Ribena berry this morning, today has felt very grey and miserable.
There are some days when you know you just shouldn't watch the news.  You've woken up, still with that annoying tickly cough, and taken the dog for a walk in the pouring rain, which is being blown into your face by a cold wind.  So far, so average.  You get home, dry yourself off, and the dog and give the little guy his breakfast.  You go back to bed for a moment to warm up and wake up half an hour later (standard).  To see the news that Oscar Pistorius seems that have shot his girlfriend.  Woe.

At first it seems like a tragic mistake, a Valentine's Day surprise gone wrong, perhaps.  But as news starts to seep out, there is talk of previous "disturbances of a domestic nature" and the devastating blow that he has been charged with murder.  Woe and more woe.

I have spent all day feeling very upset by all of this.  Oscar is a hero of mine and there's been more than enough recently of sporting heroes falling off their pedestal.  I'm going to reserve judgement until we see more facts and less speculation, but in the meantime, suffice to say I'm gutted.
Oh Oscar
In other news, I had a flat tyre today, £70 down the pan on a new one, and late back from lunch as a result. Murdoch's got the squits and I have a giant spot on my cheek.  I'm not going to take a picture of my face, but here is an artist's impression of it.

It's alive and it's eating my face!!!!!!!!
So generally speaking it's been a pretty foul day.  Thankfully the past few days have been pretty cool - lots of great work stuff going on and managed to get out for a brilliant run on Sunday.  Got taken on a ridiculous hilly, muddy, slippy slidey run along the Greensand Way by @claz0r and @leestuartevans.  We ran through a lot of WEATHER that day.  Brrrrrrrr.  So mustn't grumble.


Wednesday, 6 February 2013

Busy body

You know those people who don't blog for a while and then do a post apologising, but you know, they've been so busy.  As though they have not had a spare second to throw some thoughts onto their blog.  As though they must take the requisite time to ponder, to cogitate.  To craft it.  Well I say foo to that. FOO.  I have been busy, but quite frankly most of my blog posts are pretty much just brain farts anyway, so I might as well settle down and write one instead of watching a Murder, She Wrote repeat on ITV3, which was my original plan for the evening.  

So what have I been up to?  Well work has been BUSY.  I've been tasked with writing a lot of new business proposals, am in the process of on-boarding two new clients, attending networking events and even looking at organising our potential office move, from the aspect of getting input from all of my colleagues and taking a look at our company culture and making sure that our new offices and working practices represent who we want to be.  Phew.  All fun stuff, but all on top of my regular client delivery type work.  Yikes.  It's all go.

Outside of work, I'd love to say that I've been doing an awful lot of running.  But in reality I've been spending quite a bit of time not running.  I've been thinking a lot about running.  I've spent literally hours feeling guilty about not running, but very little time tying my laces and getting out the door.  To point where I was starting to get seriously worried about whether I'd even make it to the start line of the Brighton Marathon in April.  But not worried enough to get out the door HAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA.  In case you were wondering, that's what my panic laughter looks like.

So at the weekend, I unleashed my new and improved cunning plan for marathon training.  It's revolutionary yet astonishingly simple, all at the same time.  I have made arrangements to go running with other people, on the basis that if I've arranged to meet someone, it's much harder to make excuses and procrastinate until it's "too dark" / "raining" / "Countryfile is on".  

And it worked!  On Saturday morning I went out for a short trot with B, only just under 3 miles, but a really enjoyable run nonetheless.  And then on Sunday, I made use of the services of my friendly local badass ultra runner who you can find here (even though he hasn't updated it for ages.  I expect he's busy).  I wanted to go for 10 miles.  The plan said 13, but as I'd only previously got up to 5.2, I didn't want to go crazy.  We ran to Guildford along the River Wey canal path and instead of turning around and running back to Godalming, I suggested that we go uphill and head back through the countryside on a path I knew.  So we did.  And it all felt great.  I finished the run still feeling strong and as though I had plenty left in the tank and haven't had any muscle soreness since.  So the main thing I have gained is a bit more running confidence, which has been seriously lacking of late.  More of the same this weekend, with the possibility of enlisting some new victims running buddies.

I think that's enough for now, I've tired myself out with it all.  Oh, one last thing.  If anyone should feel like sponsoring me for the Brighton Marathon, I just set up my new JustGiving page here

Tuesday, 29 January 2013

Life on the edge

I've been living life on the edge recently, let me tell you.  For a start, I've been playing fast and loose with my marathon training plan.  Five runs a week? Bah.  I'll give you one run in two weeks and you'll like it.  

Why, just this morning I went for a torch-lit walk through the deep dark woods with one lady and a pack of animals for company.  And later today I displayed a flagrant disregard for the onset of a potentially fatal cold and headed up to London of all places, if you can even believe that!  My goodness, where on earth will it all end.  I've come to no harm though, which is more than I can say for my poor sister, who yesterday had the temerity to pick up a vase, ended up in A&E for three hours and came away with her hand stitched together. Terrible business.

In other exciting news, we had a family photo session at the beginning of January and we got to see the results online today.  There are some brilliant pictures in there.  One picture of just me and Murdoch is fabulous and then there's one of me and my sister, which I think is just beautiful.  We haven't decided which ones we're going to buy yet, but I think that those two are definitely winners! I won't post the picture of my sister as she may not want her face splashed all over this nonsense, but here is the one of me and my boy.

Tuesday, 1 January 2013