My dad’s in the local paper again regarding his heart transplant.

Huh, I notice they didn’t credit me with taking the photo and they only name the grandchildren again!  I live here too, you know – hell, I pay the damn mortgage!

And as if that weren’t enough, next Friday (January 9th) he’s going to be on the BBC Breakfast programme for the same reason.  I predict a media backlash soon…

It’s Friday lunchtime, which leaves us with a gaping black dilemma almost existential in its dark, forbidding, fundamental nature: what to do with the girls for the next two and a half days?

That’s almost 60 hours to fill with entertainment, education and excitement.  We’ve already been swimming down the road in Sidcup (which I notice has been in the news again), so that’s one particular favourite crossed off the list.

Ideally I’d like the girls to sit quietly and read downstairs while I play some more Left 4 Dead, but the chances of that happening are quite staggeringly unlikely.  Millie might well do it for 20 minutes or so, but the Bubbah…no, I think we’d be asking a bit much of her.  Her current reading age is that of a rabid dog, in that she eats books rather than reads them.