And so the summer of fun is rapidly disappearing under a huge pile of nappies, wipes and washing, along with countless feeding times, sleepless nights and all the other joys of having a child around. Enough about McKelvey though, guess who’s been left holding the golden grandchild? Yep, you got it in one.
To be honest I think I am something of a natural; must be all those years looking after my er, “young-at-heart” esteemed editor. However, I am very grateful that my own rent-a-kid adventure did not quite pan out. I am not too sure how I would have coped with two. Two blokes I can handle with ease; two babies would probably kill me.
Still, on the upside, my child-minding duties mean that I have managed to avoid doing much actual work this week. And a good job too as far as I can tell, as there has been so little to write about anyway, save Mr Pee.
Not that McCawley and McKelvey are helping out much, they seem to be spending more and more time in the bar chewing the fat – or as they call it “working on strategy”. In fact they haven’t actually been spotted since last week when they were last seen heading off to a “very important board meeting” which must have got very messy.
Talking of which, at least I did manage to escape to the Bournemouth Airshow, where a great time was had by all. The Red Arrows were absolutely amazing, the Chinooks were absolutely awesome, and the Vampires made the earth move, even though the bloke in the Jet Display Suit managed to plummet straight into the English Channel.
So many men in uniform, so little time. Suffice to say that, for Roxy and I at least, it was definitely a case of we came, we saw, we conquered, but not necessarily in that order…
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