Dirty t-shirts

Hello!

Does the term micro-blogging exist?

It's Day Four of Freddie's new life at Pre-School. And his Pre-School t-shirt, of which he is immensely proud, has been eaten in, slept in, had ice lollies dripped down it, and been used as a handkerchief. We had to prize it off him on Sunday afternoon for a brief period so my mum could wash and dry it, ready for re-wearing by 6pm that night.

This morning, however, saw the arrival of two, new, bluer-than-blue school shirts, clearly visible in Freddie's (also new) see-through school bag. The manager had put them in there for our collection, and mightily glad we were to collect them too!

It is also Day Two of ... wait for it... Me Working. As in, for money. Yes, money - that thing that comes out of machines when you put your plastic card in them! So I feel like a proper person now. I can afford my own copy of 'Grazia' now. Well, almost. I've only just started, and won't be paid for some time. But the 'Grazia' is on the shopping list, waiting eagerly for the trip to the newsagent.

And Tom is continuing to work, ploughing through MSC student scripts and poking himself awake with his marker pens. Or missing himself and splodging his t-shirt. The very same t-shirt that will join that other garment of Pre-School fame sitting atop my teetering pile of washing waiting to be done...