New arrivals

After intending to be really really good and keep this blog updated regularly, everything went a bit haywire last week when my ex rang me while I was on my way to work telling me she was in labour. One panicked dash to Crowborough later, I was a father. Ellie, born 2 and a half weeks early, weighed 5 10 and is a tiny little bundle of loveliness. I go to visit her most days and am attempting to instill in her good musical taste by singing Embrace songs to her while changing her nappy. I realise this might not be a great strategy.





Buffy and I have taken possession of the rats: Syd, Muffin and Flake. Syd is about a thousand years old and has tumours that make her look like she's on wheels. Actually, with her front tumour that hangs from her chest and scrapes the floor, she looks like Lea from BB. I've already had to make one dash to the vet this week after Syd got an infected bite.

Muffin, on her first foray into the flat, scarpered behind the fridge and hid there all day. When we pulled out the oven to retrieve her, we discovered that Muffin had made some friends. Dead friends. There were four dead mice under the cooker. Eeeewwwwwww. Times a zillion. I bagged and tagged them while Buffy tried not to puke.



What with all the dashing back and forth between London and Tunbridge Wells, I've hardly seen my lovely girlfriend this week, but last night we went to see a play in Hampstead, which had some of the worst acting ever. We hid around the corner from our violently anti-smoking boss, smoking secretly like teenagers. Then, after some Guinness and wine (which makes you feel fine) we endured the hottest, most crowded tube journey in the history of the universe, before buying some chips from the world's least hygienic chip shop (I bet they have more than four dead mice under their cookers) which were drenched in sugary ketchup. It was a v v fun evening though, and we have all day together today. We're spending it slumped on the sofa going 'I'm tooooo hot.'