I'm wrecked. And my bum hurts. But thankfully, both problems can be quickly and easily explained.
The rear ache is the result of walking up and down countless hills yesterday morning searching for my lost golf balls; the breakdown of almost all my vital bodily functions is a legacy of downing the best part of two bottles of wine last night at the Bye Bye Barbecue for my dad and John who departed first thing this morning.
Before the evening ended, Granda' White formally unveiled the nameplate on Jamie's nursery door. Grandma Judy and Grandad Mike joined us for what I'm sure you'll appreciate was another thrilling occasion for all concerned, almost on a par with last week's official opening of Jamie's curtain.
The only disappointing aspect of the event was that Jamie didn't turn up. Having shouted the place down for the previous 45 minutes before finally going to sleep, we decided to leave him under his blanket. Still, it was a nice surprise for him this morning, prompting a Gwyneth Paltrow type moment where he cried uncontrollably. Or perhaps that was because I wasn't holding his head properly. Or because he'd pooed himself - sometimes it's just so difficult to tell.
Vanessa and I now have a couple of nights to put the house back together again before our next long weekend guests arrive. More of that tomorrow.
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