Family, poetry and random thoughts.
To celebrate Bonfire Night – the evening we Brits remember the saving of King James I’s life - instead of setting off fireworks and burning effigies of Guy Fawkes, here’s a brief poem for you:
November Fifth
Fire works, so
Stop arson around.
It owes something to the vernacular, so I hope my non-Brit friends get it. 
I am a little fat. I like food; what can I say? I have dull hair: mousey. I don’t wear much make-up and have no need of a dressing table. If I look like a bag lady, I chose my own clothes. If I look nice, the Hub picked them for me. Despite all this, I am a little vain. This photograph will be six years old at the end of September. I had to go back that far to find one of me that I liked. But I don’t really care: my husband still thinks I’m beautiful and if he doesn’t, he loves me enough to lie about it. I’m lucky.
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This sounds like a fun time. Yes, yes, I get the poem. Fun!
It is fun, but the boys have outgrown it now. Have to wait for grandkids, I’m afraid. I have a long wait ahead….
hello, Laughing Housewife,
I like your blog too, I shall come by again; you’ll have to go into my bookmarks, there’s no follower button.
thanks very much for coming over.
Hello Friko.
Thank you for visiting me. I really enjoyed your blog.