Frosty

In the words of Tom Waits: there’s fifteen feet of snow in the East and it’s colder than a well diggers ass.

If the BBC are to be believed then it will plunge to -11 over the weekend. So me thinks we’ll spend most of the time dug in.

All this will give me ample opportunity to tart this blog up some. Actually I could do with a clear month off work to tidy up both my virtual and real home starting with decorating the music room and bathroom. It sounds so wonderfully middle class to say music-room. I have a picture of a mahogany and brass piano with Jr on the cello. Instead we have a junk room that needs re-purposing.

Still I suspect the weekend will go much the way most do these days. Abney and Teal on the telly with shouts of “tummy slam!” as a pint sized Shirley Crabtree lands full force on my slumbering form. Yes, we are at the Spider-man mimicking, daddy pulverising stage of childhood where no child is harmed at the expense of pater’s flattened goolies.

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