My youngest has been sharing. A good thing, I hear you cry... Well, not exactly; he's been sharing his germs leaving me with little voice, a strong desire to sleep and a sore throat. I could go on with my list of ailments, but in the spirit that made Britain great... I won't bore you with a full inventory...
Ulysse has been an attentive little helper keeping my bed snug and warm. What devotion and selflessness he demonstrates to his stricken owner. I think a little chicken for being such a hard-working cherub is in order tonight.
Yesterday I wrote a couple of letters to the papers online - The Times and The Guardian. One about Camilla; Frump or Fashion Icon (I voted for the former, and suggested starting a campaign 'Cut it, Camilla' referring to her hair) and one on rioting in Paris where I somewhat sympathised with the rioters. Well, would you like to live in a tower block 400m long where policemen fear to tread, and face rampant racism when you go for jobs, and indeed '93ism' due to the fact that the departement 93 is synonymous with the bottom of the social heap.
*yawn* that's enough. It's time for tea and bed.
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