The dog’s had a successful day what with the block of the cheese, the two tomatoes, and the half-bowl of rice bubbles siphoned up around the shards of broken bowl from when he knocked said bowl off the table.

Unlike my own day which, despite hours with a rhyming dictionary, a thesaurus, a dictionary, a whiteboard, a packet of textas, and some A2 paper conveniently packaged in a flip chart type arrangement, has resulted in just one funny sentence. And I think funny is a generous descriptor. Mildly amusing. Witty perhaps. But funny? Anyway, that sentence takes my total amount of funnies up to about three minutes. I need twenty. Minutes. In only another four weeks.

I am out of my depth, unable to breathe, because I’ve got a mouth full of whatever it is of which I bit too much off of. I hope Pavlov’s Cat looked away before she read that sentence. The shock of it would of killed her.

The Audreys’ version of Don’t Change is gorgeous. In my opinion. Makes me love Michael Hutchence all over again. Don’t act all surprised and ‘but you seem so sophisticated, how could you have liked the band that everyone else liked’. I already told you my music tastes were pretty standard. And anyway, I only like their early stuff. You know, before they sold out.

Youngest Boy just came out to get a band aid and saw the plums. ‘Why did you melt them?’ ‘Because they were about to go rotten, so I put them in the oven with sugar on them, and you can have them with ice cream tomorrow’.

Stares wide-eyed from me back to the melted plums.

‘Good job, Mum, now that’s just what a Mum would do’.

What the fuck does that mean?