Well on the bright side (thank you for your messages of support and medical advice), the pub refurbishment is over. And it looks great. So now I have a nicer view when I hobble round the corner to buy my milk. Sadly I am no closer to actually going inside, although I want to be in there more than ever. It’s a constant torture and an unlikely but nevertheless very real reason for not living next door to a pub. The foot is much better too, although my daughter doesn’t appear to understand the arrangement whereby I am the one relaxing on the sofa demanding food and drink.
Anyway it’s probably time to mention another side-effect of blogging. What with all this blogging about childcare I have found myself doing less of the actual childcare itself. “Daddy can we play?” my daughter asked the other day. “Not now, I’m writing about what we did yesterday.” I found myself replying. “Why?” Why indeed. Thus chastened I immediately dropped onto all fours as instructed and pretended to be a cat eating a bowl of polystyrene chips. What had I been thinking?
I got my due reward later that evening. When my wife came home from work my daughter disappeared upstairs, returning shortly afterwards with her musical box. She opened it, placed it on the coffee table in front of us and as we all watched the pink plastic ballerina rotate regally, reflected in the backlit mirror, she sat between us, linked her arms in ours, pulled us close and said “This is nice isn’t it.” It was.
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