Monday, May 02, 2005

Ippy dippy dation, my operation...

... how many people at the station?

Excuse my playground interlude. For some reason, earlier today as I was preparing smoothies for me and the BF (banana, apple, plum and raspberry, if you're interested), this little ditty came to me and I wanted to share it with you, my lovely, fluffy, sweet-smelling readership.

It is - in case you are of the wrong generation, school or geographic origin - one of those rhymes you use in the playground to choose or eliminate the participants or to decide who's "it" in any number of childhood games. Another one which springs to mind is "Ip dip dog shit...".

That's what you get when you leave a Witho alone for a day.

For today was Bank Holiday Monday and, for reasons we've not yet established, this was a "normal school day" for the BF, so he arose at his usual hour whilst I languished in bed. My lie-in was perturbed by my lunatic dreams and the sound of people doing the things they do on Bank Holiday Mondays. Usually noisy things. Drilling, sanding, mowing, grinding - anything ending in "ing" which prevents Witho from her favourite Bank Holiday Monday pursuit of "snoozing".

I did eventually get up though, and despite the usual internal debates, went for a run in what turned out to be bright sunshine. On the way back, I wandered past the tennis club to see if the nets were up yet. They weren't, but the grass courts were marked up so it won't be long before I can demonstrate my incompetence with racquet and ball.

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