Bailey's, Secret Santa, and The Money Tree.

Afternoon, m'lovely jubblies. TODAY I WENT CHRISTMAS SHOPPING. I wonder what it is in the human mind that causes us to want to kill for the last bottle of Bailey's, gauge out eyes over wrapping paper, and lunge for the throats of stroppy teenage shop assisstants...
On the subject of Christmas shopping, why is it that every year we all agree to do 'Secret Santa' and yet  there's always that one girl (or other non-denominational human being) that gets prezzies at the begining of November, and you somehow end up buying for fourteen people, AND a Weasley sized family. One of these days, I'll have to start watering the money tree...

Daphne

Humpty Dumpty, Fat Kids On Tyre Swings, and Synthetic Milk.

Children! Children settle down! ~ehem~ Enough of my patronising you, and let me first apologise to my err three dedicated followers, for abonding you for almost a month. I am ashamed, believe me. And another apology to my fantastica friend, Ria, a mortal I befriended on Earth, to whom I promised to blog last night, and I would have, if I hadn't have found myself in someone's front room, with a load of teenagers (one wearing a 'Strongbow' box as a hat?). Anyway, salutations.
Lately, les examens have been swallowing me up, like Humpty Dumpty and his secret alcohol addiction. Think about it...why else would he be sat on a wall, if he knew he was an awkward shape to balance? It's like putting a fat kid on a tyre swing. Sorry...that was unpeacy.
At the aforementioned mortal's request, here it is...A nugget of wisdom: "Argh! There's synthetic milk on my face!"

Daphne