Homemade granola. Crunchy, warm, a bit too sweet for my liking but Coo was loving her snatched fistfuls.
Mr J's photos from his birthday camera, a present from an Understanding Friend. He has a few curious ones of headless subjects, but there are a handful which form a perfect representation of his birthday celebrations.
Righty's and Lefty's cardboard figures. From magazines, Sunday Times, and a football annual, they have been cutting out famous footballers and pasting them onto scraps of cardboard. Then, with a ball made of Blu-Tack, they conduct long and elaborately laid out football [soccer] matches.
Coo's dancing. Mr J's Safari book with the noises opens and she begins to jive to the percussive sounds of African animals and drums. The boys put on a CD and she wobbles back and forth, back and forth, starting from her middle, to the beat of the music. With her Tots Bots nappy on, her little bum sways and she often waves her arms for emphasis.
Rain. All morning, afternoon, and evening. It's not the monsoon-style deluge of a few days ago, but a steady falling, almost like a snowy mist. For those of you in hot places who are envying me this lovely rain, stop right now. It's cold. Not comfortably cool. COLD! Not reminiscent of autumn, but of misery. Damp. Do you know what damp means, you warm-country-dwellers? I'm not talking about mould that gets into your walls or ceilings (though it does that here too) and grows. Damp is a wet, muddy chill that soaks into your skin, and ultimately into your bones. Your lungs beg for dry air, and after just a week or so of this, you can't remember what the warmth of the sun feels like.
There is a very helpful way of getting through this sort of weather. A handful of coffee beans, thrown into the coffee grinder. A kettle put on to boil. A steaming cafetiere of fresh coffee. Mmmmn. What rain?