It was a Very Good Day

for sick husbands and wives
Of independent means, their son pushed in a pram, his chauffeurs would drive
When I was thirty-five ( and a bit )

( apologies to Frank Sinatra, I love this song )

AB was home today after vomiting self-inflicted poison this morning at work, freaking out, and coming home.

Note to others: don't poison weed-trees that threaten to take over your front yard with your bare hands, forget to wash them, then lick your fingers to turn the pages of your daily newspaper.
You may vomit and think you are going to die.

But if you don't die, you may find yourself ( i'm in song mode ) having a lovely unexpected day en familie grabbing a pastry for lunch, perusing bookstores and chilling out a little. Because your wife suggests you don't look soooo sick now, c'mon, let's go for a walk !

And it was lovely. Daddy-days are rare, and most appreciated, even at the risk of sudden death-by-poisoning.

And Daddy is more generous with the $ than spindly old $2 Shop mummy, so we all did well at the bookstore.
The Master got two books at full-price, whereas I got this lot at the price of ONE book. The chuck-out tables were very good to me !

I took some lovely father-son shots at the park later on .. but I seem to have lost my "Poor Richard" watermark font in the computer changeover.
Poohs.