A Mixed Bag Today

Earlybird pointed me in the direction of different types of snow and I have extended my earlier poem as a result:

Snow Lesson

Eat yellow
snow at
your peril.

Graupel melts
something awful.

Snirt will
make your
insides hurt.

It’s not coming home; it’s not coming home: football’s not coming home. 

Gloom in the room when Russia won the right to host the 2018 World Cup; and mortification at what can only be described as a rout: two votes, and one of those was ours.

I baked a couple of cakes the other day.  I only mention it because they were surprisingly edible, if you don’t mind the aftertaste.

I spent yesterday doing the dreaded housework; I had no choice: Tory Boy is coming home this weekend.  It took me four hours to find his bed under the junk I had stored on it; then I had to put it all in Spud’s room.  On Monday I’ll have to move it all back again.  Why o why did I have children?

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There’s a new poem on my other blog.  It’s only two lines so why don’t you take a peek?