Monday

For me this is experimental, so bear with me. It's Monday the 9th of July and Jacky has just done a backward leap off the bed attempting a triple salco. After the first double twist he smacked the back of his head on the oak parquet flooring. The recovery was celebrated by sticking his finger up daddy's nose until it bled profusely. 

                  Watching England versus Italy
                   (Don't laugh, you're half English!)

In the morning we take mummy to work. Then we have a coffee and a stroll round the park in the city centre. Some soil analysis is followed by dog chasing. We weren't particularly impressed by the roses.

This one hasn't even got any flowers

But of course there are some quite nice blossoms, this being a rose garden and all.

After trying to shake daddy off for a good hour we decide to give up and go home. 

Not too happy about all these photos

Once we are home, the kitchen is the place to be. No longer the culinary centre of the house, the kitchen is now the fusion dance centre; hip hop, break, the pogo and the dying fly........................

What better way to end the afternoon than a swift stroll with the dogs. Having to sneak into one's own garden is a bit hard hard to swallow. In fact there isn't much sneaking involved because the grass and weeds are so high you need a machete and a pith helmet just to reach the front door.

Tricky taking a picture like this

Beware of the ferocious Galician wolf
Canis Lupus cuddlius

The poem for the day; coz you gotta get a bit of kultcha

 The World Is Too Much with Us

The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon,
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers,
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;

It moves us not. --Great God! I'd rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn.




Sounds spot on to me.