There was a day a few weeks ago when Scotland looked like this. Tear-jerkingly lovely. It very nearly makes up for the months and months and months of damp and gloom. Almost makes endless no-point-in-putting-the-fence-back-up gales worthwhile. Almost.
What do you say to a child about heaven?
What do you do with your underwear?
No not mine, everyone else’s. The male people in this house each have a pair of buttocks. Aged variously seven, fifteen, seventeen and fifty, the bums also range in size. Therefore, each arse owns a selection of pants. At either end of the derrière spectrum it’s very easy to tell whose is whose, it’s the […]
