Carlsberg do do Sundays

They smell of sweat, and puke, and overworked bladders and marital violence.

Ours on the other hand was pretty good.
I would not go as far as saying that the kids were fun to be around, oh no, I am not senile just yet, but they were barely perceptible pains in the arse. They were a small discomfort in the arse.

We all went to the pool in Ballymun and Luca did some great swimming (his periods of not drowning are ever increasing), Mimi floated about gracefully in her Hello Kitty floaters and Finnzy-Bob did a lot of filling his mouth with pool water and spitting it back out laughing. I am confident that he has picked up new strains of obscure infantile diseases that will keep us entertained for weeks.

Then we gate crashed the Baudsons' Sunday. Stole their mince pies and pancakes. And the gorgeous heat of their fire.
Even stole their camera to grab a blip.

Carlsberg do do Sundays.

I don't want them.