Sunday statistics

How many languages can we, lucky denizens of this house, say poo in?

Fifteen.

Metres of wonky heart-shaped bunting sewn for party?

About ten.

Crosswords done?

Two…well one and a half – do other people really ever finish the cryptic ones?

Number of times I have held the door open  for meowing cat only for her to turn her nose up at windy drizzly day and back hurriedly away from the fresh air?

Million?

Instances of me howling, ” GET ON!”  to an eight year old boy staring at the ceiling, pencil in his hand?

Billion.

Damn lice combed out of hair?

Trillion.

BT’s today? Million billion trillion. Must be an upsurge in the drugs. I have been absurdly happy and content with all . My surroundings are as chaotic and mouldy as usual but today they seem cosy and cheerfully shambolic. Proof, as if I needed it, “the most effective change begins in you”. And on that Stroudesque non sequitur I leave you dears ones.

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