Good Friday

The gritlings push off to the local museum today, chum Tigger in tow, with the sole aim of extorting six Cadbury's chocolate eggs apiece from the old woman at the front desk. She probably thinks she's going to have a lovely time in the museum egg hunt.

Shamefully, we lost our annual pass to this local museum some time ago, but we are now unfortunately well known, so production of it seems no longer necessary. The little grits have visited this place so often they now treat the place like an extension of home, slamming back the entrance door, demanding to know where the chocolate stash is kept, and generally making a nuisance of themselves with other visitors. One time they came home outraged that a coach party had arrived to look round their turf. Their familiarity with the old telephone sets, the tram, and the printing press brings out their charmingly anti-social, ASBO sort of behaviour.

Good Friday brings it out especially, what with the brown lard overdose, but I am warning them that they should atone for it appropriately at some point. I am threatening them with a stint at dressing up and volunteering in the future as a way of saying sorry for what we did to the old woman when we were high on Cadbury's cocaine.

Anyway, while they are out the house for hours, it is a day off for me. There is only one thing to do. Finish stitching the locked heart I started before Valentine's Day.