Headless Bob

In what will be seen as an awful warning of the dangers of home improvement (see previous post) Bob the Builder appears to have done himself something of a mischief. Nothing that a dab of superglue won't mend, mind. Can we fix him? Yes we can!

Odd jobs

Now the holidays are here, it is time to do one or two of those little jobs around the house that I've spent all winter promising Nevi I'd get round to. The washing-up, for instance. No, seriously, there are one or two tasks involving screwdrivers, spanners and (occasionally) hammers that are apparently my preserve. (Why this should be, considering how utterly rubbish I am at DIY, is a mystery.)

Anyway, today I am replacing a light fitting (I think that's the technical term for what I'm doing). Because this job will involve using a (metal) screwdriver and lights typically run on electricity, I have switched the power off at the mains. I could, of course, simply have switched off the circuit that the particular light is on, but that would have been to seriously underestimate my ability to select the wrong switch. I have also been told (by Nevi's father, who I have no compelling reason to believe wishes me dead) that it is possible to do at least part of the job without switching off anything at all as long as you know what you are doing. But I don't, of course. So anyway, the power is off and I am standing on a not-quite-tall-enough and slightly wobbly ladder waving a screwdriver in the general direction of the ceiling.

Meanwhile, the thunderous expression on Phoebe's face (having been told that she can't watch television until Daddy has finished) leaves me in no doubt that my electocution would be a small price to pay for her being able to watch Krypto the Superdog. Or at the very least, that my falling a short distance onto a soft wooden floor would be of no serious inconvience to me and would allow her to continue with her TV-watching activities. I nervously call for Nevi and ask her to keep an eye on the blonde peril...

Holiday

We're off to Spain tomorrow for ten days or so. Emily and Phoebe's hedgehog is in charge of the blog in my absence...

Sleepy

We are sitting watching a free concert (organised by one of the local municipalities) with music from southern Italy.

The chairs are not very comfortable, though, so half way through, Phoebe hops down off hers and comes and sits on my lap.

After a little while I see that the music seems to be sending her to sleep. She puts her head on my shoulder and strokes my chest. What an affectionate little thing she is.

"Are you alright, love? Would you like to go now?"

"No, I'm OK." She lifts her head and looks at me. "You have lovely squeezy boobies, Daddy."

Ahem. Clearly her vocabulary needs to be expanded to include the words "rock-hard pectorals"

Mamma Mia

Two thumbs up from the girls for the film version of the Abba musical. Phoebe loved the songs, Emily wants to see it again and Nevi has been warbling "The Winner Takes It All" all weekend...

Healthy appetite

Emily is sitting at the breakfast table. "Daddy, for breakfast I would like some bread and butter with jam, a bowl of Cheerios and a glass of chocolate milk."

"Goodness, you must be hungry. Would you like me to roast you a wild boar, as well?"

"Don't be silly, Daddy," she tuts. And then a thoughful look comes into her eyes. "But I wouldn't mind a boiled egg..."

Insult

According to Phoebe, I am "a pest in the arse".

That is all.