Sunday, June 08, 2003

The MarkCity crib.

Two weeks ago I posted a picture of our flat looking, as my mum used to say, 'like a bomb had hit it'. (This is one of the phrases that all new mothers learn while in the maternity ward, along with 'if X jumped off a cliff would you want to jump off too?', 'life's not fair', 'were you born in a barn?' and 'ask your father'.) As the picture above shows, our flat now looks far more respectable, and Butter would like me to draw attention to the fruit bowl, pictured, which she just mortgaged her soul for at Habitat.

Our tickets to the Big Brother have arrived! And Mr Tickle is still in the house, which means that, if I can be bothered, we'll be able to make a Give Us a Tickle banner, or similar. Sharp-eyed readers will notice the 'Entry Not Guaranteed' stamp on the ticket, which is rather worrying. They dish out more tickets than they have space for, to allow for no-shows, so we have to get there in plenty of time. If we don't get in after all this hype, I'll scream and scream and scream until I'm sick. Or until they let me in - whichever happens first.

The Tunbridge Wells superhero has been exposed as a fraud. It's a great story.