Ludo, Eric Clapton, And The Boys.

Hullo, peoplefolk. I, sir, am blumin' knackered.
This is the part where I could choose to tell you why, or leave you guessing from some obscure, ridiculous hints- but that kid cheats like a bitch at Ludo.
Paps made banana wine. Luffly stuff, chaps. Bit strong.
Anyways, I won an award this week. For excellence and attainment in modern foreign languages. So thanks, Pat Neale! I owe you one, man. This was at a presentation evening, which I had to be at (Head Girl and whatnot), and let me tell you- between you and me- I took every ounce of effort to smile at so many grumpy parents who didn't want to be there.
If I Saw You In Heaven, Eric Clapton. Lord above, it makes me cry. He lives over the beach at Porth Kidney. Porth Kidney is my favourite place in the whole world. Now, I must make this a little bit more serious. Just this once. I'm not sure if that's what the boys would have wanted, though. So I'll try to keep it light.
Joe and Lou are twenty tomorrow. If I Saw You In Heaven- paps still can't listen to it. The boys passed away as babies, and the whole thing deeply upset my parents- as you can imagine. But we grew up always knowing their names like older brothers, and I think they'd have been a right laugh, expecially if they'd turned out anything like paps. Maybe we'd have had to have put up with spiders being thrown at us and other assorted laddish traits, still...wherever they are now, I'm sure they're doing just fine. And although I might not have known them in life, I think I know them all the better for the thought over the years. So, if I forget to say it tomorrow- happy birthday, guys. Don't drink too much.

-Daphne.

Dave From A Registered Charity, Goldfish Eyes, And The Crapmobile.

"Hullo, can I speak to a uh... *stutters over my father's last name a few times*?" "Ah, no, I'm afraid he's not around, can I take a message?" "Uhm, who is this?" "Well, I might ask you the same question, sir. His daughter." "Oh, then tell him it's Dave from a registered charity." "We'll see, Dave from a registered charity, we'll see."
Some people.
Huzzah, peoplefolk, it's me. Just twentyseven days later than last time it was me and I was whittering on about GI Jive Hour or something. Seriously though, the 1940s UK Radio Station... so much love.
Now, there three key thoughts on my end today:
1. A woman with goldfish eyes insisted of picturegraphing me in my uniform in a very unatural position. Nobody poses like that, woman. Nobody. We won't go into the details, but it involved rolling my sleeves down so I didn't agree with it.
2. Builders. I love builders. It seems they mostly drink tea, and talk down their phones, but suddenly infrastructure appears at their finger tips.
3. As I was crossing the road, a young man who looked a little...spaced out... drove past with banging fairground music blaring from his crapmobile. Resisted the urge to skip in circles.

Love, luck, tea.
Daphne.