Suburban Hen

no children

2009-12-18T04:14:00.005Z

There will be no Christmas miracle.

Had our first pregnancy been OK, we would be gearing up for a baby over the next week or so. Except it wasn't and so we are not.

Instead, we are gearing up for another termination.

A few months after the first termination, we had the audacity to try again.
Last week we had the testing, and the results came back on Monday. This pregnancy is also Down syndrome, and termination begins tomorrow.

The timing for this is awful, and the stress of it hasn't been dealt with very well overall by either party. Now I feel like I am grieving for two things. Another baby dream gone wrong, and for the kind of relationship I thought we had. Instead of just a shared sadness, the house is full of the kind of he-said she-said that damages a relationship for a long time.

Right now I feel like I am doing everything wrong, that I have made the wrong decisions, that I am being selfish, and that I am expecting too much of LB.

We will not be trying again.

of which i say something about something in the news

2009-12-02T10:20:00.003Z

Logging onto the Internet this morning I have read on an Australian news site that the Brits have gotten their knickers in a knot over the intention of the Australian government to cull some to the Northern Territory feral camel population.

Culls like these usually play out with some helicopters herding the animals away from human settlement, and then they are shot with rifles from both the air and the ground. It's not the most pleasant way to go about things. It is, however, one of the only ways.

Australia has a feral camel population because after camels were used by early explorers and settlers to assist humans with expeditions into central Australia, they were released into the wild so they no longer taxed the food and resources of their once owners. The camels survived and it is reported that their population increases by double every two years. Now, I am not very good at maths, but even I realise that a couple of hundred years of a few feral camels breeding by double bi-annually adds up to a mother load of camels.

The whole thing has come to critical mass, with the thousands of camels so desperate for water in the SEARING HOT DESERTS OF AUSTRALIA, that they have busted in to a remote Aboriginal community called Kaltukatjara (Docker Creek). There are only about 300 people living in Kaltukatjara, so when we talk about their water infrastructure, we are most likely talking about a very small dam or lake, or if they are lucky, they may have tapped into the Artesian Basin with some bores. They probably have a tiny water treatment plant, but maybe not. Oh look, the Wikepedia entry will tell you all about the water available at Kaltukatjara. They have got bores. There you go.

So. The thousands of camels have busted in and are drinking all the water of this tiny community, and what they are leaving behind is dirty and untreated and will simply make people sick if they drink it. What with dead camels decomposing in it. And camel shit. And the like.

Some Brits think that the decision to cull 6000 of the thousands of feral camels is barbaric and wrong and 'third world'.

I would like to suggest that some Brits are so removed from the reality of the situation that they actually have no right to even use their limited brain capacity to think about the problem, let alone pass such a narrow minded judgment on it.

We are talking about an introduced species that has inadvertently flourished in the wastelands of the Australian desert descending on a small community of indigenous Australians and, well, potentially killing those INDIGENOUS people. If something similar happened here in the UK, say an overpopulation of rabbits (go on, google 'rabbit cull UK') ate all of our winter crops one year and Marks and Spencer's had no British turnips or something, then people would be out there wringing the rabbits necks with their own bare hands.

However, we are not talking about turnips or annoying little bunnies. Oh no, nothing so quaint. We are talking about huge four legged water hungry mammals. 400-600kg of four legged water hungry mammal. Times OVER 6000.

Think harder, you imbeciles.

on thursday

2009-11-27T20:59:00.003Z

The day before yesterday (Wednesday) I posted myself three First Class letters from the post box that the ill fated journey of number 14 began. Yesterday those three letters arrived safe and sound.

Hurrah!

To recap:

First Class letters posted = 5 (17/11/09)
First Class letters received = 5 (18/11/09)

First Class letters posted = 8 (18/11/09)
First Class letters received = 7 (19/11/09)

First Class letters posted = 2 (19/11/09)
First Class letters received = 2 (20/11/09)

First Class letters posted = 4 (20/11/09)
First Class letters received = 4 (21/11/09)

First Class letters posted = 3 (25/11/09)
First Class letters received = 3(26/11/09)

2009-11-24T20:50:00.004Z

As I haven't posted myself any letters since Friday, no letters from myself have arrived. Not even number 14 (like I'll ever see it again...).
What did arrive today, though, was an aerogram from my sister in the Australia's. She posted it last week as part of my experiment, and it arrived this morning before I went to work. What she wrote inside was really very funny, and I got a giggle out of it.
Without knowing who he was, one of my managers served my postman today, and described him as 'rude'.
We are in the different part of town tomorrow when number 14 was posted from, so I am going to take the opportunity to again post from there.

yesterday

2009-11-22T13:10:00.002Z

Some post arrived yesterday around lunch time. I had posted four letters the previous day, and all four arrived. Still no sign of 14 :(

First Class letters posted = 5 (17/11/09)
First Class letters received = 5 (18/11/09)

First Class letters posted = 8 (18/11/09)
First Class letters received = 7 (19/11/09)

First Class letters posted = 2 (19/11/09)
First Class letters received = 2 (20/11/09)

First Class letters posted = 4 (20/11/09)
First Class letters received = 4 (21/11/09)

So, to recap, I have posted 19 First Class letters and recieved 18 of those, and one Registered Signed For, also recieved.

I am yet to pop down to # Name Road. A part of me doesn't want to bother, but another part of me knows that if the letter is there, I can complaign correctly to Royal Mail. A lost letter is different to an incorrectly delivered letter, and my ongoing problem is with incorrect deliveries, not things really getting 'lost'.

a phone call

2009-11-20T10:39:00.002Z

As per my suggestion to myself, I phoned Royal Mail to discuss the current results of my experiment. As I do have a missing letter not sent by me (from the hospital), I did have something to formally complain about. Which is good. Because I can't actually complain about 14's whereabouts until the 8th December. Only then is 14 considered officially lost.
The Royal Mail customer service adviser was quite keen to point out that since late October, it seems that they haven't been doing too bad, though we agreed it appears things might not be looking good for 14. The upshot of having phoned them is that the delivery centre, and eventually my postman, are going to know that they are being tested. I informed the customer service operator that I am going to continue my experiment, so hopefully they will take the challenge by the horns and try even harder. Also I imagine that there will be some notices put up somewhere appropriate that might mention I am a nutter. Probably. But if that is what it takes to get my post delivered to my house, then a nutter I proudly am.

test results -he's early today

2009-11-20T09:59:00.002Z

It's 10am, and the post has been. Normally it doesn't come till much later.

Anyway.

First Class letters posted = 5 (17/11/09)
First Class letters received = 5 (18/11/09)

First Class letters posted = 8 (18/11/09)
First Class letters received = 7 (19/11/09)

First Class letters posted = 2 (19/11/09)
First Class letters received = 2 (20/11/09)

Letter number 14 is still AWOL. I did not go around to # Name Road. I just could not be bothered. However, I am going to have to write them a note and stick it through their door to let them know that something important is due, and that although my post might not be coming to their house, it's certainly not all coming to mine, so I would appreciate it if they could help me out here, blah blah blah.

I'm tempted to phone Royal Mail now, and then again if they fail to deliver more of my letters. A phone call for each letter, if you will. Yeah, I might do that.

test results - uh oh

2009-11-19T15:16:00.003Z

I've come in this afternoon to discover that all bar one of the posted items have arrived. This is distressing, but I hope that it will arrive tomorrow. Maybe it just got caught up somewhere. But it is one of the ones I posted from the other side of town...

First Class letters posted = 5 (17/11/09)
First Class letters received = 5 (18/11/09)

First Class letters posted = 8 (18/11/09)
First Class letters received = 7 (19/11/09)

I posted just two letters today, items 16 and 17. Like I say, I hope 15 turns up tomorrow with them. I'll probably go and check with # Name Road today, so if they have received it and thrown it in their bin, maybe they will surreptitiously retrieve it. Though where it is exactly is a moot point. It's not here, is the thing that must not be forgotten.

test results - 2.45 pm

2009-11-18T14:47:00.002Z

I have arrived home from my shift at work to find unexpectedly good results on behalf of Royal Mail!

First Class letters posted = 5 (17/11/09)
First Class letters received = 5 (18/11/09)

I posted 5 more letters today, this time including three typed addresses in window box envelopes.

LB seems to think I should mix things up a bit, and post from a different part of town. To ensure they are indeed going through all the channels a letter from, say, THE HOSPITAL might go through, I am going to take up this suggestion. We are in a different part of town tonight, so it's a good opportunity to achieve this variable.

test results - 8am

2009-11-18T08:20:00.003Z

Recorded Delivery

Sent = 1 (17/11/08)
Received = 1 (18/11/08)

Royal Mail plants an early goal in the back of the net.

Let's see if they can maintain their stamina and stay in the game with the regular first class delivery.

a test

2009-11-17T15:00:00.002Z

Today I posted myself five empty envelopes using Royal Mail. On the back of the envelopes I wrote the numbers 1-5. The number 1 on the first envelope, 2 on the second envelope, 3 on the third, and so on. Tomorrow I am going to post myself five more empty envelopes, and the next day I am going to post myself five more empty envelopes, and I am going to do this until I use up all twenty four fist class stamps that I purchased today.

Why am I doing this?

Well, the postal service to our house is nothing less than appalling. Forget the postal strikes. They were just a minor inconvenience compared to the challenge that is the post to this house on any given postal day, and it has been this way for well over a year.

The reason our house seems to be so hard to deliver to is because we live on a Grove, named after the Road that it branches off of. So you have '# Name Grove' and '# Name Road'. As I have said, we live on the Grove. It seems that this is Very Hard for Royal Mail to deal with, and our post repeatedly goes to the address around the corner, and not to our house. Sometimes we get their post, and a few months ago we got quite a lot of their post. I always take it around and post it through their door, because that is what people should do. The problem is, this is not what they do for us. In fact, I am pretty sure they just throw our post in the bin, now. I have been waiting on a letter from the hospital that was posted over three weeks ago. It has never arrived. I went to check with '# Name Road', and they said they haven't received any of our post. Given that in the past when they have received our post and they have never brought it to our house (I have had to go and collect it), then I have a sneaking suspicion that they just bin our stuff now, and that the letter from the hospital pertaining to a really important appointment has just gone the way of their bin.

This whole thing has been very frustrating, and has been made even more frustrating given that I have complained to Royal Mail about the subject three times. Each time they have said they will fix it, and each time they have failed. Even after the third complaint I made, the very next day we received the wrong post. I was so frustrated I ended up not phoning them, as I wasn't sure that I would not just end up crying down the phone. I was a bit emotional that day.

It seems anything my mum sends me from Australia is especially difficult for them to deliver. Four things my mum has posted me have gone missing. Three to wrong addresses which were later retrieved, and one that was sent back to Australia. No word of a lie. They didn't even try and deliver it at all, not even to the wrong address. You might imagine my mum is a bit confused. After all, it's not like I moved to a third world country with a dubious postal system. No, I am supposed to be living in 'one of the greatest countries in the world'. Well guess what, England? Royal Mail is really shit, and is an embarrassment to your country.

So, back to the test.

I am going to see how many of my 24 letters arrive through my letter slot. I want all 24 to make it, I really do. Do you know how much peace of mind that would give me? Except, I know I am not going to get all 24. And when I don't get all 24, I am going to phone Royal Mail and really get quite a bit angry. I will not cry, as I am not emotional at the moment. And also, the post is especially important at this point in time. We are waiting on the return of our passports from the Home Office, and I swear to God, if Royal Mail cock up that delivery, I am going to slit my wrists. Or spit in my postman's chips. I might do that. You see, I serve him his effing lunch a couple of times a week. And I have never made it personal. I have never said anything to him about how shit he is. I've simply not wanted to take him on at work like that. It just seems inappropriate to me. But I am wondering if it is actually the only way to get through to him.

A part of my experiment is going to be sending myself some 'registered signed for' envelopes as well, as this is how the Home Office will send us back our passports. Please stay tuned for the results. I hope for everyones sake that the results are better than hoped for, but I am not holding my breath.

monkey says no

2009-10-17T22:45:00.004+01:00

Earlier today I got the camera out. I was going to take some shots of one of the neighbours cats. He didn't comply, but when I came inside Junior was sitting there looking cute. I don't have that many photos of him, so I thought I'd grab a couple. I got down to his level and was trying to get him to look down the lens when Monkey came along.

Monkey has never had trouble posing for the camera, and if I didn't know any better, I would say that Monkey felt strongly about Junior having his photo taken.

sour

2009-10-08T22:21:00.002+01:00

I would like to write something.

Hmm.

Some time ago it came to my attention that as part of my ongoing residence requirements for the UK, I would need to sit a test. A citizenship test! Yes, that test. The Life in the UK Test. The same test that many people born and bred in the UK, had they need to take it without first studying the official guide, would fail. Australia has a similar test.
I'm not sure how I feel about the test. On one hand it has just been a rather stressful and annoying element of the box ticking that needs to be done for my Unlimited Leave to Remain. On the other hand, I am gobsmacked at how difficult it is, and I actually fail to see what it ultimately achieves. Well, no, I don't fail to see what it ultimately achieves. I don't like what it ultimately achieves.
The test, in essence, is designed for only a certain section of the community to be able to pass it. First, you need to have a very good understanding of the nuances of written English, as some of the questions are not simply worded. All fine and dandy for me, an Australian, but not so great if English is not your first language. I'm left wondering what kinds of people they are trying to eliminate with the test, and frankly I don't want to talk about it out loud, as it makes me feel dirty.
On Wednesday morning, there were people in that testing centre who probably failed the test. Thirty three pounds and twenty eight pence later, that's a pretty lucrative fail on behalf of whichever department the funds ultimately end up supporting.
There is an alternative for those who are not capable of reading or speaking English to the level that the test requires, and that is a course, which I understand has a test at the end of it. I have not researched this course or its ultimate requirements, so I can't comment on what it might or might not achieve, although I wouldn't be surprised if it hoped to achieve the same sort of chaff sifting that the Life in the UK Test seems to be designed for.

Ultimately, I should just shut up and be happy, as I passed the test. Selfishly, what should I care about the people who took the test with me on Wednesday? The thing is, I do care. In the weeks I took to study the test, it was constantly playing on my mind that there would be people who would not be able to pass this test. My own mother, for example, does not have the kind of study or memory skills required. How many other peoples loved ones just don't have the right kind of aptitude for something like this? It worries me. On a very basic level, the test just isn't humane, and is actually intellectual snobbery at its most vile.

holding pattern

2009-09-25T18:17:00.002+01:00

It have been very quiet. Inside and outside the blog.

It has been a time of re-evaluation for me, though I haven't come to many conclusions about life. I guess you could say I am pretty confused. I have always had a 'plan'. I have always been working toward something. Life is now full of so many uncertainties, so many things that are seemingly out of my control, that I am a bit bereft of where I should be channeling my energies. I just don't know where to point my nose, and I am a bit out of sorts for it.

We are in Spain at them moment, on a mini break to see my sister-in-law. We are spending one night in Barcelona as well, and that is where I am writing this from. The hotel has wi-fi. We've had great weather thus far, and it (the weather) really reminds me of Brisbane.

I have a few ideas on what I want to do, or what I should be doing. It is just a matter of doing them.

last night i dreamt i was a dog person

2009-08-29T12:34:00.004+01:00

Some months ago, Pussle took to sleeping on my pillow at night. Smack bang in the middle of it. She moves in on it when we go to bed, and if I move her off it before I go to sleep, I will only wake to find that she has put herself back there at some point.

As annoying as it is, I'm not complaigning. She's getting on, and it isn't like she's going to be around to annoy me forever.

commentary

2009-08-29T10:39:00.002+01:00

So. Over at dooce.com, home of one of the Internets most influential bloggers, there has been a shit-storm of monumental proportions over the way #26 wielded her Twitter power when being treated poorly by the very posh washer company, Maytag.

The shit-storm erupted when people decried her use of her influence to 'get what she wanted'. Try as I might to understand these peoples points of view, I'm struggling.

Let me get this straight. Lots of people are upset because Heather used her influence to pressure a multi million dollar corporation into...giving her some customer service?

In her post about the issue, Heather almost seems to apologise for her expectations, insinuating that there might have been fewer Tweets from her on the subject had she not been so sleep deprived due to the newest addition to their family, baby Marlo. What I would like to say to Heather is this. It doesn't even matter that you were sleep deprived, and I hope you come to realise this. All you did was rat out a mega corp for shitty customer service.

Early doors in the comments on the post, someone calling themselves 'Jane's Mom' writes:

3. Jane's Mom said:
I watched the whole thing unfold yesterday and it is my opinion that you were unjustified in ranting on Twitter about it. I know you were sleep-deprived and god knows I've been there because I have three kids and life sucks sometimes. But I think you should have known better. And your husband too. Anyway, cool idea from mommymelee and kudos to you for seeing it through. Hope your washer works okay from here on out.

To Jane's Mom I would say this. If it was the end of the world, and only you and Heather were left, and you were fighting over the last Snickers bar, Heather would not only beat you to that last Snickers bar, she would deserve it.

There was a scene in the film 'Serenity' (nerd alert!) where on planet Miranda the atmosphere was pumped full of a 'peace gas', in an experiment in controlling violence. And all the humans have died from apathy.

May the world never be filled with the likes of the apathetic 'Jane's Mom'. It's because of people like her that we remain in this diabolical mess of corporation control.

2009-08-23T11:50:00.000+01:00

Hello Internet.

anything you need to confess?

2009-08-10T22:29:00.001+01:00

see more Lolcats and funny pictures

quickly

2009-08-05T17:47:00.002+01:00

Two things.

Firstly. I have very tentatively rejoined Stalkerbook under my now married name. I did this because I miss the interaction I had with some friends on there, and because I wanted to have a search result for "My Married Name". Why? It's a solidarity thing, plain and simple. Something that seems to bother the hell out of some women is seeing photos of their ex on Stalkerbook. Worse still if those photos include his girlfriend/wife...

Secondly. If something 'good' can be garnered from our pregnancy, and latterly the termination, is that the local team who deal with counselling people like me have accidentally thrust a pair of second cousins together.
After my termination, my counsellor was falling over herself to do things for me, so I asked if she could put me in touch with someone going through something similar to me. Specifically, I mentioned a couple who our specialist had causally referred to once when we were meeting with him. My counsellor came back to me with a name and some contact details, and the lady and I spoke to each other on the phone, arranging to meet.

Then we met.

My second cousin tells me that her mum was shocked to confirm that yes, her mum does know my mum. Because they are first cousins, sharing my maternal great grand parents (and my second cousins paternal great grand parents).

So let's recap.

My second cousin lives about three blocks away, and we met through the team trying to help us have babies, in a city and country far away from our respective home towns.

Ruminate on that if you will.

todays funneh brought to you by ICHC

2009-07-26T12:54:00.000+01:00

see more Lolcats and funny pictures

lull

2009-07-24T19:39:00.004+01:00

It's been a quiet week. LB has done a five day stint as a radio presenter of a mid-morning show on progress fm, a local LGBT friendly mostly Internet based radio station. They had a seven day FM license, and LB coincidentally timed his introduction to the station at a point where he could put himself forward to run one of the time slots. So he did. And it was great. He also had a bit of fun with an 80's show last night, and the ten of us that listened really enjoyed it :)

My full week back at work has left me no time to feel sorry for myself. Just what the doctor ordered, really (actually, the doctor ordered I take at least four weeks off. Er. Like THAT was ever going to happen). My lunch-time colleague C (she of the chocolate sending) has been off this week caring for her sick daughter (not swine flu), so I've had a week muttering to myself about how shit teenagers are at mopping floors/being polite/insert gripe here. It's the big things, I've got got tell you.

And I am slowly but surely chugging through the post-production of my second to last wedding for this year. Hooray!

On Sunday evening I am meeting a local woman who has a Robertsonian translocation. I asked my genetics counsellor if there was any chance she could organise an introduction for me with someone 'like me', and she has managed to make it happen. Bizarrely the woman I am meeting is Australian, lives in the same post code as me, and her parents come from my home town. When you are aware of where my home town is and where I live now, you realise that the chances of this coincidence are low indeed. We've had a good chat on the phone already, and I am looking forward to getting to know her.

just funny

2009-07-21T18:55:00.006+01:00

From Mondays xkcd comic, with a new comic every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

what's in a name

2009-07-14T16:39:00.002+01:00

Those who like to analyse the deep psychological motivations behind why people do X, Y or Z will not have to dig too deep to come up with the reasons behind my having spent the best part of this afternoon adapting my Internet identities to my married name, as opposed to my old married name.

Slow on the uptake, I was mostly apathetic about it because changing my last name with certain official channels has always appeared to be both time consuming and expensive. I didn't really see a point in changing my name anywhere when officially I would remain a 'insert previous married name here' until I coughed up the funds required to make it otherwise, and because LB isn't a misogynistic megalomaniac, it hasn't bothered him either.

When we finally decided to bite the bullet and try for a baby, I thought it prudent to see if I could change my last name with the NHS without providing my passport. And I could. So I did. The last thing I wanted was for people to think our baby was a bastard.

THAT'S A JOKE!

Actually, I just figured that it would be nice for people in the NHS not to mistakenly call LB Mr 'insert previous married name here', or to call the small one who is no longer with us Baby 'insert previous married name here', when neither was true or even slightly accurate. Taking his surname with the NHS was the action of someone who could foresee all the possible mistakes that could be made by well-meaning idiots. I love the NHS, but it's staffed by humans, and not all of them could possibly be as competent as our FMM specialist. Fielding two surnames left too much room for error.

This doesn't explain the change of heart with almost all of the rest of my life, but let's just put two and two together and blame my hormones.

no longer distracted

2009-07-11T13:01:00.002+01:00

This is not the place for writing about the mechanics behind the medical termination I had this week. This is also not the place for people to read about the mechanics behind the medical termination I had this week. The experience is apparently different for every woman, and reading the stories of those who have been through one that are on the Internet do confirm that this is the case. Logic tells me that while I might write up a blow-by-blow story for very well-meaning purposes, for another woman to come along and maybe have her decision affected by my ramblings...

It just doesn't seem wise.

What I do feel I want to say was that the physical pain was unbearable. That the various drugs made me vomit, piss myself, and gave me the most horrendous diarrhoea. That I was left with no dignity, but when the morphine kicked in, I didn't care. I do not think it is inadvisable of me to share this with the world. Facts plain and simple.

I am on the most part just 'getting on with it'. It being life. My colleagues, for all that my lunch-time shift at the local fish and chip shop is, have been very understanding. Given the short notice they had to deal with the situation, I felt telling them the truth of it all would be the only way forward. No point in dancing around something so challenging. It was the right decision, as they have been able to offer me the right kind of support. I take up work again on Wednesday, but will let my colleague C do all the 'hard' stuff. She actually admonished me for not telling her about the pregnancy in the first place. She says she would have done more for me (not that I needed her to). But anyway, it shows that people can be kind when you let them.

The big question is will we try again?

The answer is I don't know.

When we started on this endeavour, it was with the hope that everything would turn out OK. Except it didn't. This was my very first pregnancy. I've had no 'near misses' in my past, or even a 'scare'. We didn't try for months or years. It was like it was meant to be. We decided we were going to try to get pregnant, and we got pregnant. We knew the risks of a Down syndrome diagnosis, and what it would mean for us as a couple. But we thought it wouldn't happen to us.

We were wrong.

I didn't go through the termination alone. LB was there for every horrible moment. His experience wasn't physical, but can't be viewed as lesser. He was the father of the baby, and he is my husband. He watched me spend a day in physical agony, because as a couple, this is what we chose for ourselves. I don't know if he could do it again, and because I know that I wouldn't be able to do it again without him, then I don't know if we will 'try again'. It isn't all about me.

I know what my body wants, what my heart wants. But I also know what I don't want. In a world where we are in control of so many aspects of our lives, getting what we want is too often so easy that we are lulled into complacency. Suddenly when we can't get what we want, we start searching for ways to make it happen, demanding they appear. But in this, not even IVF holds any guarantees. Yes, a normal embryo could be made for us, but the implantation could fail. We're not eligible for IVF on the NHS, either, because LB already has a child. We would have to pay. And we could end up paying for empty promises. Not to mention what my personal feelings on IVF are, either...

So, I don't want to go through another termination.

I don't want, and can't afford IVF.

But I do want my own genetic family.

And I have no idea what LB wants, which is more important than I think he realises.

If anyone has any idea where we go from here, I would be deeply appreciative of the answers, as I do not have them. My well of answers is dry.

The Cutest Thing Part II (alternatively titled 'Distraction Technique')

2009-07-09T20:48:00.016+01:00

Further to this post where I wrote about how the man-kitten, Junior, was collected by his cat friend to go out and play.

Man-kitten's friend is quite the regular visitor now, and if Junior isn't about when his friend drops by to play with him, I dutifully set about finding him so the two of them can enjoy each others company.

For the purposes of posting, I shall name Junior's friend Mr Cat.

This is Mr Cat.

Classy, no?

Junior was upstairs when Mr Cat stuck his head in the cat door this afternoon, so I nipped up there to disrupt his bird watching time so that he might entertain me and Mr Cat.

I must apologise for the quality of these photos. The kids were playing in the neighbours garden, and today I might be excused for not scrambling over the fence to get better shots. I stood on a chair as it was, and even that felt a 'bit too much'.

Here is a better photo, for those who expect more of me.

There is nothing else to see here.