I weigh 194.5lbs. I am quite excited by this. Should I do a 0.6lb poo then I'll have managed to go to 1939 from 1945, which is very much in keeping with the theme of the day. Should I manage a 2.7lber or a 3.1lber then I'll be taking the Great War into account as well.I am shocked to recognise that I am tempted, as I sit pondering this upon my porcelain throne, to lie a little to pervert the results of this experiment, already six months old, just for this purpose.
I am having a poo
I weigh 189.3lbs. The Matabele War or maybe the The Franco-Siamese War aside, 1893 was not a terribly important military occasion. As far as I know the Franco Siamese War was only really British in its mercenaries and, whilst the Matabele war was against the British, I can't really bring myself to include a company army, engaging in battle against peope who it would enslave to work in its mines, in the same class as the more recent conscription wars on mainland Europe.
Matabele warriors. These men would all die or end up in a mine
Anyway, I am off to church now to ring for remembrance. I never wear uniform or medals or ribbons, but I shall have medals in my pocket and a poppy on my chest. I have been discussing this a lot recently, I may comment further on things later on.
- looked after the baby with the burns,
- went to a children's birthday party,
- Stayed in bed throughout the whole of a ballet class.
- Did two poos, amounting to over 7lbs in weight.
- Took delivery of a simply enormous sink (nearly 5' wide)
- Built some rather splendid shelves out of floorboards.
- Had amazing sex which was interrupted annoyingly.
- Managed to recover from an annoying interruption.
- was told that all my efforts are not good enough and I now have to go and clean up 'and you'd better bloody hoover as well!'.
- That last one referred to work in the kitchen
- watched "Cool Runnings" with the girls.
Anyway, I have only cried twice as an adult, once when my first was born and once watching Cool Runnings some time ago.
Get near the end, just before the crash, and I'm blubbing like a baby.
The girls have never seen me cry, mostly because I haven't, and they are really quite taken aback. The big one is all quiet and the middle one keeps berating me for 'pretending to cry'.
Jim mercilessly ribbing me helps none in the situations, I find.