This sporting life is gonna be the death of me

It's nice to be assured, repeatedly, that the thanks of a grateful daycare is mine, for my simple presence as Fourth Body when the unhappy new bugs are requiring one person apiece and hence playing hob with the programme. But ohh my arms hurt and my elbows hurt and my shoulders hurt and and and. On the other paw, as I've often noted, the immediate and pressing needs of small people make any other concerns disappear swa heo na waere. So I shall keep on appearing and will get, at the very least, and expensive dinner out of it come Christmas, though I think I shall start dropping hints about how a bottle of gin would be much more appreciated.

My mysteriously vanishing blue t-shirt turned up at work where I'd forgotten I'd left it. The mysteriously vanishing grey pants have not turned up anywhere, which is puzzling, because I brought them in off the line last Saturday with my other pair of summer pants, both of which needed mending. I mended the stripey ones and have worn them all week. But the grey ones are not where they should be and not where I must have put them. Vexing and annoying.

Cool blows in at last. 12C tonight! Even my AC was never set that low. Welcome back, autumn: please stay this time.
( Wednesday )