Easily Pleased

Have only just been awakened, and looks like it may be the last time tonight.

Massive lie-in until 10.00am this morning. Completely un-interrupted sleep the previous night.

Leisurely stroll hand-in-hand with Favourite Daughter to her morning ballet class. Kiss her goodbye whilst ignored in favour of far more interesting ballet friends.

Saunter *alone* to very good local Italian deli who sometimes put tables out and let you pretend you're in the Sopranos. One cup of bloody excellent coffee, quick scan of the Saturday paper. Just me. Twenty minutes. Proprieter asks after offspring (once a person establishes that you have children, this becomes the sole topic of conversation for the casual acquintance. Which is as things should be). I try and chat. His English is not brilliant, my Italian non-existent. He has such a 'mama-mia' type accent I often wonder if he is actually Italian - he sounds like one of those 'foriegn-type' characters they occasionally wheel-out on Eastenders. On the occassional time I watch it.

Full-pace run along dance-hall - 'Da - deeeee!' - good-byes to all concerned. A walk into town. Hand once so tiny it would only grip my little finger now holding mine like any normal-sized person.

'Firty. Stawbry dink from supermarket then look in chaddy shops.'

The charity shops are great. Shunned them for years. Wherever I lived, whether I was a student, rich or poor. But they're ace. Go into FD's favourite (RSPCA - she thinks the lady with the white hair is a bit weird, but quality of the kit seems to override this).

Immediately notice DEMPSEY & MAKEPEACE THE bloody MOVIE on VHS. How brilliant? That's not the first thing you see when you walk into HMV.

I laugh. First because it's just such a funny thing to even exist. Secondly because I have a younger brother. His girlfriend works in HR, is very level-headed and seems very much in control of her life. He, on the other hand, is no stranger to lap-dancing establishments and will happily spend a mortgage down-payment on an overly-powerful car that he is barely capable of controlling. He is a loose canon.

We often have them over. I refer to them as Dempsey and Makepeace. To my missus. Not to them. I have to explain it. She is much younger than I. 'Oh yes', she says, 'that is funny'. She does not smile.

FD finds nothing she immediately covets, and so we walk home hand-in-hand. Talking non-stop. The sun is shining. Sky blue. Birds singing. She points out all the things you see every day but never really notice. This is nice.

Home. Favourite Son - 'aaaaaaaahh' - impressively deft all-fours run-up and then scooped-up to adult level to plant big-kiss (fortunately he has decided to forego the teeth for now).

Tired Mam has lunch ready. FS devours in about three seconds flat and looks at me as though I'm Next. FD claims to be too tired. I cannot argue, and we snuggle on the sofa. About four pages into the Review section, I notice FD is fast asleep. The sun hits us both, and the repetitive white-noise from the washing-machine is impossible to overcome. We both fall asleep for the next three hours.

As, I'm told, does FS. His 'push-chair' - which is slightly larger than the mini cooper my mam owned when I was his age - has a 'bed' option that allows him to nod-off in the sun-trap of our backyard.

This is the longest, dullest post ever. Suffice to say, Mr & Mrs Tired even had time for a little cuddle (literally), there were murals drawn in chalk in the back yard, the house was full of laughter.

FS and FD in bed at sensible hour. TD and TM watch Don't Look Now for reasons beyond comprehension.

Despite night-terrors, all has been quite tha-neet. Maybe I'll even sleep.

A good day, for no reason. I shall delete all this.