That is the question, as it turns out. My husband is sporting a beard (grown pre-Becks, he likes to remind me) and I just can’t decide if I like it or not.
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I measure all pain on the BC scale: before childbirth. Even using an epilator is a walk in the park nowadays. But there is a mother who has raised the bar when it comes to showing the love. This particular one has her babies, then lets them eat her.
A late post from me this week, I’ve been away with work. In fact, still here in the wierd and wonderful place that is Los Angeles.
So, we went to a gig the other night to see the very excellent Editors. Loved the music but the dancing and whooping felt ever-so-slightly self-conscious.
There was a time when the Sunday Papers were read cover to cover all before our first glass of wine at lunchtime on a Sunday.
A pair of Clarks shoes to be precise. I didn’t realise quite how much of a landmark it was at the time.
I read something that made me laugh out loud on a heavenly family-of-five-in-a-small-confined-space car journey last weekend. Apparently someone once said that one of the foremost over-rated things in life is cheap Champagne.
Big night in our village tonight: the Harvest Supper. I was on the ‘young’ table (i.e. six out of eight were under 45) and we were entertained by a singer who made her name singing the hook line for the old Fairy Liquid adverts.
