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Sunday, August 09, 2009

If you've ever wondered how Amelie manages to look so young, here's your answer...

The rest of it's in her mouth.
That's some of the finest anti-ageing cream money can buy. L'Oreal might think she's worth it, but frankly they should start using childproof caps.

Anyhoo, as the photo above proves, Amelie has reached the fourth shelf from the floor, and Lisa and I have reached the point of no return. Since our pride and joy was born last October, we've been gradually moving things skywards, and after ten months of rescuing our belongings from her clammy clutches, we've finally hit a ceiling. Literally. Every shelf at a height of three feet or more is full to the rafters.

But as luck would have it, my parents' loft, which looked like this last October, before being declared a toxic waste dump back in May, has now been passed as fit for human habitation. Although it's hotter than a sauna and you could cook a fried egg on the floor. So having toyed with the idea of sending Amelie to live amongst the lagging, we eventually settled on Plan B, and spent yesterday morning packing an entire car's worth of books and videos into bags and boxes, and evacuating them to the countryside.

It was a lot of hard work, but it was worth the journey just to see my Dad wearing this t-shirt...

Don't label me.
That's him in the hat. The yellow spiral's plotting the course of his career.

As it happens, he and his hareshirt had a booking yesterday afternoon to entertain the guests at a private function for which the hosts had employed a professional toastmaster. So it wasn't just the balloon animals which had an inflated sense of their own importance. My Dad e-mailed me afterwards with this link. As if 'Toastmaster of the Year' wasn't a ridiculous enough name.