The movie Trainspotting had a formative effect on my life. It convinced me that heroin was a bad idea. But, perhaps more importantly, it impressed on me that shitting the bed was terrible experience and indeed something I never wanted to intimately participate in.
While on the whole I’m fairly confident in the sealing integrity of my sphincter, when faced with the added challange of a bacterium I tend to err on the side of caution by doubling up on my underpants. I’m happy to announce that I still haven’t chalked up that particular close encounter and remain poop in the bed free (since ‘83).
I had a piece of white toast for breakfast. My first ‘real’ carbohydrate in more than a week. Hopefully it will stay down. It’s was delicious and the only thing I really felt like eating. The sprog sat next to me on the floor spearing raisins with a fork and then transferring them into her mouth. Together we read the Hadeda book. Which is likely the most Johannesburg Northern suburbs children’s book ever written.
‘Early in the morning there’s nothing tastier than a parktown prawn’
Saturday mornings used to the sole domain of the long brunch. Now we have all these responsibilities.
Like swimming lessons. This one kid hasn’t stopped screaming since we started. It’s making me think bad (murderous) thoughts about his parents. (Not very stoic of me) He screamed the entire class last week too. The kids name is Noah. Maybe he has some historical aversion to water.
I chortle at my Genesis joke. Funny.