Grief is a funny thing. As in peculiar rather than ha ha, obviously. Seventeen years ago my brother died. I remember, a few years after, googling the five stages of grief.
Find Wine!
I’m currently 60% rosé, 40% hot dogs and the school holidays haven’t even started yet. I blame the weather. And the football.
On Monday, the Husband and I celebrated 30 years since we first started going out. We were fifteen, the year was 1988.
Best party trick ever. So, today a space probe landed on a comet for the first time. And Kim Kardashian balanced a champagne glass on her bum.
Told you that spreadsheet was a good thing. I’m ahead of the game on present buying. But now, every time I see the cupboard they’re stashed in, it reminds me that they’re not going to wrap themselves.
I made jam last night for Youngest Girl’s nursery cake & chutney sale on Saturday. Actually, I didn’t make jam. A group of us got together and I chopped a few peppers and chillies, whilst mostly chatting over a glass of wine and a bowl of crisps.
