Twiglets

Woke up with Eraserhead hair, which must be catching because later on in the day Ben had it. It was not a Bad Hair day though.

I met my friend Karen in Gunwharf Quays at the HaHa bar where she had snagged the comfie leather sofa and thus the best seats in the house. We drank hot chocolate and caught up on six months' worth of gossip. Oh and of course re-ordered the world. Like you do. Then we shopped for a while then went to the Old Customs House for nachos and wine. Tis a hard life sometimes.

Tomorrow is Fake Christmas chez Austen and Sue. Ben arrived during the day and Alex is on her way down having spent the day at the Clothes Show in Brum. Tis a hard life sometimes.

Ben decided his Eraserhead hair was terminal somewhere around 17.30 so we went down Albert Road looking for emergency hair surgery, sadly however, the only one that was open, well, ish, was one we were avoiding, but which however spotted us. Two girls rushed out into the street shouting,
'Miss, Miss, hi Miss, see, we told you we didn't need Spanish/German.' So you didn't. Yet. On the other hand I was never responsible for actually making the law, merely implementing it.
'I'm glad you're enjoying hairdressing,' I said. They bounced back in again. So far as I was happy to see them, which wasn't in truth very far at all, I was glad to see them happy.

Back at Austen and Sue's, the beginning of Fake Christmas was signalled by the ceremonial opening of the Twiglets. Ah, Twiglets, so British, so full of marmitey goodness. Lush.