It warms the cockles of my heart, it really does, to see how righteously irate my dear readers become in the presence of a misplaced apostrophe. I like to think that in an ideal world we could all get together at a carefully selected restaurant (the kind that describes its vegetables as "dew-picked"), get pleasantly tipsy and annihilate the menu with a red biro. That would be pretty darn close to a perfect social event in my book.
Rest assured I will bring to your attention any further massacres of the English language which I happen to spot. (Isabelle has already seen the photo I carry around in my phone of the maintenance department sign in my office which asks "Do you know of anything in the office that need's fixed?" I think I may have shoved said phone in her face when we were in the audience waiting for a Fringe show to start, such was my outrage.)
Anyway, how are you all? Did you have a nice weekend? For those of us in the UK, Sunday was Mothering Sunday - I don't think you North American types celebrate this until later in the year. I was awakened by two small boys and one slightly larger, bearded one, bearing a large mug of tea and a plate of buttered toast. Proper toast, thank you very much, allowed to cool slightly and then thickly buttered. I also received a card which, according to the hand-crafted labels on the envelope had been all over the place, including "Baron Fronkensteen's Castle", "Punxsutawney" and "Lionel Twain's Manor House". There may be some clues there as to which films we have been watching with our children recently.
I would write more but my laptop just freaked out as I attempted to beat XUP at Word Twist and this is a sure sign that it is time for bed. Night all.