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Sunday, June 24, 2012

If you're looking for an old boiler, I can point you in the right direction...

That one's more of a pot-boiler, obviously, but if big stomachs aren't your thing, I'm sure Andrew can hire you out something more appropriate. Like a bunny boiler...

I wonder why Lisa's not wearing her wedding ring..?

Anyhoo, despite being five weeks away from labour, we had a nice time at H's 40th birthday party last night. To be honest, Lancing Leisure Centre wasn't quite the classy destination I thought it would be, and we didn't so much walk down the red carpet as through a netball court. I think I was put off the place on a subliminal level too, as the first thing we saw on arrival was the word 'boil', which is not what you want when you're in Lancing.

Ordinarily, we'd arrive about two hours late for something like this, but Lisa was so terrified of having to stand when she's eight months pregnant, that she insisted we get there early to bag a table. It meant that we had plenty of time for a detailed kitten-update from H, and the big news is that they took their little one to the vet for the first time yesterday. Unfortunately, despite being nine weeks old (the kitten, not the vet), they were told it was too young to accurately sex, and the vet wouldn't be drawn on its gender. Which is outrageous. I was willing to have a go at four weeks, and I know next to nothing. A qualified vet should be far more confident.

So they still haven't named the thing, but they have been told that it's healthy, so they won't be returning it to the breeder. Although H's husband thinks its ears are too big, and keeps calling it 'The Rat'.

Anyhoo, we spent most of the evening rooted to our table, chatting to anyone who came near, and wondering how a group of ten-year-old boys know all the steps to the Macarena when it came out sixteen years ago. I attempted to persuade Lisa to bust a few moves on the dance-floor, and after a couple of hours, she did, which is quite impressive when you're the size of a teletubby and wearing three-inch heels. I did a kind of Spanish-style dance which involved holding my arms out wide, just in case she fell.

Obviously I ate far too much from the buffet, and the birthday cake was to die for (from clogged arteries), but ultimately it was just nice to spend an evening out with my wife...

We might look like we're in a caravan, but we take a nice photo.


A passer-by said...

I see that your plate is empty!!

Phil's Mum said...

That was exactly what I was going to say!!!  But it IS a nice photo.