Don’t worry, I haven’t been at the Origami again, folding up a a fluffy flock of misshapen chicks for the fox I made earlier to eat. Although it’s an idea.
The kids made these:
My own Easter treat has nothing to do with chocolate and is mainly to do with acid jazz: I will be out to see the James Taylor Quartet who I have loved for years but never seen. It says smart dress only which rather rules out the maternity jeans I bought accidentally the other day. Oh well, I thought at the time, at least I won’t have that awful moment of “will they fit?” when I put them on.
I never try things on in shops any more. I am my own personal shopper. I bring stuff home for my own approval or nul point in my own bedroom with my own mirror that, funnily enough, is not fitted out with a harsh white light…
Rudi does his best to make the experience shoplike though. He has a habit of flinging the curtains wide across the window when I am at my most deshabille for the whole street to see.