So. Am taking my bugs to Hawke's Bay so my mummy can console me or make me better with the balm of maternal compassion and care. I.e. so she can roll her eyes and tell me to keep away, she doesn't want what I've got. Totally inherited Mum's saint-like patience and nursing genes, FYI. When P's sick, all I can think is:
a) I can't bear the moaning/nose blowing/throat clearing etc etc.
b) When will you be better so we can go do some god damn fun stuff?
c) Don't touch me.
I blame Dad for this bout of germs, actually. Saw them last weekend when he'd just got off a plane from Germany and was coming down with some sort of virus. It'll be a vicious merry-go-round of reinfection of his household this weekend. Poor old Dad.
I do actually like autumn though. Warm, with chilly bits, then colder, then jeans/boots/scarves and tasty hot treats. S'good.
|THIS WAS 2 WEEKENDS AGO BUT THINGS WERE ALREADY STARTING TO LOOK AUTUMNAL. THIS PICTURE MAKES ME LOOK LIKE I AM A PINHEAD.|
PS This thing still posts on British time, but it's actually 1 March here in NZ. Truly. Also, if you're REALLY REALLY confused, here in the southern hemisphere the seasons are different. Go look that up.