Imagine this. You’ve got hold of a knackered ladder that’s been used on many a decorating project. You’re having a bit of a clear out — and instead of taking it to the recycling centre, or freecycling it, you put it on eBay for a starting bid of £25 (plus £14 for postage) and describe it as shabby chic.
Neil wants me to ask the seller if they’re for real.
I think Anne’s starting to feel insecure in her position as The Boss. She insists on sleeping with me every night, and Neil has been consigned to sleeping in her bed (she has a double, it’s not exactly a hardship). I like to read before going to sleep, it’s the way I wind down — assuming the book isn’t too exciting — and Anne usually asks me to read to her as well. Lately she’s started picking up another book I’ve left on my bedside table and ‘reading’ with me.
As Neil commented right before he took this photo, it might be more convincing if she held the book the right way up.
I persuaded Neil to try using jugs and bags of milk instead of our usual plastic bottles after our summer trip to Canada. We were getting on well, only a couple of piercing / spilling mishaps. Now we’re told Sainsbury’s won’t be selling them any more, because they’ve apparently found other ways to save on plastic packaging (I haven’t found any press announcement on their corporate site, I’ve been emailed the news and have also seen a notice in the supermarket).
But will we now throw all our plastic-milk-bag-specific jugs away, because hardly anywhere else sells milk in two-pint bags? That’s a lot of plastic waste.
(There is a large dairy company who can deliver milk bags to our area, but their customer service was so APPALLING when my sister was ordering care packages for me in 2011 that I absolutely refuse to order anything more from them.)
Tean’s chicken curry paste is quite spicy when cooked according to the printed directions. I used double the amount of coconut milk, in the hope that Anne would not find it too spicy. It was still pretty spicy, but as I didn’t give her any sauce, just shredded chicken, I reckoned she’d cope.
And how. She kept asking for more, more, more, until she said, “My tummy is feeling quite sick.” And she drank one and a half bottles of water. Then, er, filled her nappy.
Being fined for throwing ciggie butts out a window I get, but for breastfeeding on the MRT? Have they heard a hungry baby kick off?! No mum is going to willingly whip a boob out to feed or calm a baby on the train, I can guarantee that — it’s a last resort. *shakes head*