Apologies to my bloggie chummies for my absence from your posts, but Internet connections have been few. I look forward to catching up with you from home tomorrow.
House buyers are commonly advised to look for "the worst house in the best street".
I booked us into the cheapest room in the best hotel, the one where visiting rock stars stay.
Then I got an email from the manager, offering to upgrade us to a suite, for a paltry amount.
We've got a kitchen, a laundry, a living room, two TVs, two fridges, and acres of windows - just drawing the curtains becomes a bit of a workout.
Who knows, we might be in the same suite that Stevie Wonder us, or Clinton or Putin.
Tonight Albert invited all the outlaws to dinner, where they presented him with a tiny monogrammed steel comb - because he only has a few hairs to comb. And a tiny Maglite torch to help him see the hairs, also intended to light his way to the bog at night. When you become an old person, suddenly it's open season.