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There was a story today about a man getting an eel stuck up his rectum and a lot of childish conjecture about how it may have happened. People seem to have assumed that it was some perverse sexual game. But never assume. It makes a eel up your ass of and you and me. Sure eels aren’t particularly turgid and a bit wriggly, but what if an eel being transported by air had fallen out of a plane and landed in a snow drift and then frozen solid and then a skier had taken a tumble and had his trousers ripped off by a branch and then landed in the snow drift bottom down and bang, the eel is up his fundament for a perfectly innocent reason. By the time he got to hospital the eel had thawed and so would have seemed perfectly normal to the doctors who got it out.
Let he who has not had a skiing accident that ended up with a frozen eel lodged in their anal canal throw the first stone.
Phoebe had her face painted as a tiger at nursery this week and loved it so much that she was almost inconsolable when the tiger face came off at bath time. It’s important to let your kids express themselves, but equally important to stop their bedsheets turning into the Turin Shroud for the tiger Jesus. So Catie got some more face paints so we could apply the tiger face as and when it was required. And I have never seen Phoebe as happy and excited as when she saw these paints. I wish she loved me a tenth as much as those four tiny blobs of paint. But it’s good to know that I could make her that happy just by buying face paint. It’s going to be the new Ferrero Rocher. I will do anything to fuel my daughter’s ridiculous tiger fantasies, as long as she is happy.
