St Georges day old boy!
The Major: Strange creatures, women. I knew one once… striking-looking girl… tall, you know… father was a banker.
The Major: Don’t remember the name of the bank.
The Major: I must have been rather keen on her because I took her to see… India!
The Major: At the Oval… fine match, marvellous finish… now, Surrey had to get thirty-three in about half an hour… she went off to powder her… powder her hands or something… women… er… never came back.
Basil: What a shame.
The Major: And the strange thing was… throughout the morning she kept referring to the Indians as niggers. “No no no,” I said, “the niggers are the West Indians. These people are wogs.” “No, no,” she said. “All cricketers are niggers.”
Basil: They do get awfully confused, don’t they? They’re not thinkers. I see it with Sybil everyday.
The Major: I do wish I could remember her name. She’s still got my wallet.
Basil: As I was saying, no capacity for logical thought.
The Major: Who?
The Major: Oh yes, yes… I thought you meant Indians.
On saturday we were invited to share their wedding day at Ekotemplet on Waldemarsudde. We will cherish our memories from this day.
The ceremony, the tram ride, the dinner, and meeting all of these friends and families.
Welcome the new Mrs Mabon – now I´m not the newest one 🙂
That was the big question this morning as he was nowhere to be found. We searched our place from top to bottom. No clues where he was. Not a sound either. And then I spotted a few white hairs on the black kitchen top…and a few more on the green wall and then a few more near the open hole. (The hole is to be finished next week when the electrician has been here)
So, more calling out for the lost cat…but still nothing. We took away the microwave-oven and had a look down the hole. Nothing. Darling hubbie then decided we had to take away our black ledges. Still nothing. Or…
Yes, there he was sitting behind the oven. Was he stuck? H started to unscrew the dishwasher. At the same time J and I tried to lure Bagheera out with some of his favorite food. Yes! He crept out!! Finally! And still not a meow or any other sound. He fur was just a little bit dusty – and he was hungry.
A cat of our own? No! We have come to the conclusion that we are dog people.
On our way to Åtvidaberg for Easter. Cold and miserable.
Once more it’s that time of year when we leave for Åtvidaberg. Jamie has put up a strong protest of going there at all. I thoroughly agree with him, considering how I won’t be able to do my homework there (or play TF2 with friends). Jamie is pointing out how he won’t be able to play Minecraft (best game ever). We´re laughing our heads off and Andy is singing a song about words we don’t say (all 98 of them).
And you will find each one of us by clicking our alter egos below.
Stephen Wobblebottom, Elisabeth Lillyhill, Stuart Plumtree, Henry Cherrybottom
What is your alter ego?
The boys were happy to see all the Duplo again. We took it out to make mini guest Arvid feel welcome. And soon we´ll have to figure out how to make cat guest Bagheera feel as welcome. How do you welcome a cat?