Little Minx. Poppity Goblet. Sausage. Boo-boo. Pussycat.

Fastidious. Minor weakness for bananas and berries. Intrigued by her own nasal cavities. Likes a wander. Bossy boots. Considerate to soft toys. Enjoys a good lick of the coe-woe before bedtime. Furtive ice cube thief. Says Chinese words. With an English accent. Snores (gently). Lacks canines. A bloody genius.

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Monday, March 26, 2007

Time warp


A day out at Kew Gardens, Summer 2006

God I miss Saffron. It's just not the same without the Little Minx around. Even if the house is (marginally) tidier, even if I'm not having to stock the fridge with 728 pints of organic full fat milk at any one time, even if I don't have to live my life to the melodic strains (no pun intended) of the Balamory jingle. So what's a pining mother to do on a late Sunday evening, under the influence (of a mug of Builder's tea), except to throw all caution to the wind, stick two fingers to her strict House Rule of Chronology and scan through her archives of photographs and post them for posterity.