Tag Archives: postaweek2016

December catch up and Merry Christmas one and all!


It’s been a long Christmas this year.

It started around the 1st of December and since then it’s been a party of one kind or another every other night right up until the Christmas Day. Along with the parties we’ve earned ourselves a few God points by attending a carol service here and there as well as some festive lantern and wreath making. It’s a good job we’ve had very few guests in, we’ve been far too busy having fun to work!img_3944

img_3941

img_3936

25_02

25_01

In between all this we managed a few days ‘up country’ as they say down here and had an early Christmas with family and friends in Lancashire. That was lovely but hectic. Two full Christmas Days and half a dozen meals out, lots of laughs, cuddles and catch ups. It was fantastic to see everyone but I always get more than a pang of sadness when it’s time to leave. We used a fairly central pub as a base for our entertaining. By the end of the trip we were on first name terms and exchanging B & B tips with the landlord. I’m pretty sure he’ll remember us haha.

On our way back from there we stopped overnight in the midlands for a dog show. Dougie the Doggie and me danced in a heel work to music competition and managed to come third! Get in!!!

Copyright
Copyright

Straight from there and still in Christmas leggings we went for a lovely posh lunch and catch up with little sis and after that we headed off home.

It’s exhausting having all this fun!

On Thursday night Boofuls and I left the last party of the season, high fived each other and said “We’ve done it! We got through all the parties and survived.” Of course we had forgotten about the dog walker’s cocktails at a lovely bar near the beach. Oh well, one more night out won’t kill us!

Christmas has been a blessed relief. We’ve been glad of the break from all the parties! Mind you, we’ll be kicking it off again in the next few days as it’s our turn to host the ‘bar club’ meeting for all the B & B owners who have bars on their premises. After that we have a murder mystery dinner party planned.

To be honest, I was a bit worried about Christmas Day. Last year we went back up north for Christmas business as usual but this year it was just the four of us here in Devon. Would it be too quiet, tense, grim? Nah! It was bloody brilliant!

We changed the guest dining room around and basically sectioned half of it off to give us our own dining room, a luxury these days. We trimmed it up, ok, when I say ‘we’I mean ‘I’ with the gaudiest, tinselliest, sparkliest decorations I could find along with all the new and gaudy laser lights that Boxfuls has been investing in this year. The dining room glittered and twinkled like a magic grotto. Tacky in the extreme. It was BRILLIANT. I’d never let a guest see it. So far as they are concerned our restrained and tasteful decorations are the standard by which the bar is set. Haha little do they know what goes on behind the door of our little flat. Here’s little visual of our Christmas. Munki has grown a lot, hasn’t she?

Copyright
Copyright
Copyright
Copyright
Copyright
Copyright
Copyright
Copyright
Copyright
Copyright
Copyright
Copyright
Copyright
Copyright
Copyright
Copyright
Copyright
Copyright
Copyright
Copyright

Let’s talk for a moment about the word ‘tacky’. In my day tacky meant slightly sticky. When did it start being used in place of the much more elegant word ‘vulgar? One of my mum’s favourite words, vulgar.

Oh yes. I know when it was. When our American cousins imported it into the UK via popular culture. I don’t like it. In this house ‘tacky’ will continue to describe not quite dry paint or nail varnish and anything else that is slightly sticky. Ostentatious, poor taste displays of well, anything, will henceforth be known as vulgar.

Anyway, back to Christmas. The day passed in a merry and laid back blur of jollity and laughter. By the time Dr Who came in we were starting to flag a bit but rallied round for a nice game of Pictionary. After that it was choccies, port and telly before bed.

Boxing day morning rose clear, cold and bright. A perfect day for a swim in the sea. Wait? What? Swim in the sea? In December? are you mad?

Apparently so. I donned the fetching wet suit that my lovely friend bought me as a gift, the Santa hat, a belt of tinsel and some fetching red and green bauble earrings and joined a hundred other swimmers in various stages of fancy dress for ‘The Boxing Day Dip’ Several hundred people lined the steps of the promenade to watch as we all ran into the sea whooping and laughing. It was so much fun, I could hardly stand for laughing. Still I carried on and got up to my shoulders in water before swimming back to the shore. I was so excited I went back in for another dip. Fair to say it was a bit bracing but I’ll be doing it agin next year. I love a bit of festive eccentricity and it certainly got rid of any cobwebs!

It’s almost two years since we moved to the bay and on an almost daily basis I am still amazed at how our lives have changed.

Our lives bear no resemblance to our old life up in Lancashire and every single day I thank God for the life we have now.

Ok, it’s bonkers. Working eighteen hour days in summer and struggling to get any business in at all in winter. Would I change it? Nope. My only regret is that we didn’t do it years ago. If there is any sadness at all it’s that I miss my family and friends. If only I could get a few key people to move to Devon, that’d be perfection!

Now we have opened the doors to the public again and are gearing up for the new year celebrations. So far working has been a lot less tiring that all the partying we’ve been doing. I’m glad to get back to work for the rest.

May I take this opportunity to say I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas and may the new year bring you health, wealth and above all happiness. HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Advertisements

Flick


Boofuls and yours truly went to church the other day.

Not just any old church but a special one. We went to the spooks.

I can hear you thinking, ‘what the hell is she wittering on about now. Spooks? What the…?’

The spiritualist church. Or, as Lashes used to call it when she was a small child and sitting on the back row of the church with a colouring book and pens, the spirilitch church.

Some time ago we went to the spooks all the time for a spot of God bothering. At the spooks we immediately felt accepted, and of all the religions we’d looked at (one, the one we were born into) this one felt like a good fit. For many years we were active members of the local spooks and sat in development circles, meditated for hours, practised healing, made lovely friends and spouted home spun philosophy to each other. Good times.

Then came the not so good times. Then came the times when my good old mum, bless her deceased heart, went though a stage of being not so mentally sound. No need for any details except the ones relevant to this story.

My mum decided that, as avid spooks goers and having been introduced to the church in the first place by her, we had stolen her religion from her.

Bit of a blow, that.

As I’m writing his I’m resurrecting feelings of hurt, confusion, guilt, anger and loss which I have never really dealt with. How do you deal with being accused of stealing someone’s religion from them? It was never our intention to steal anything from anyone. We thought the church was there for anyone who wanted to attend it. Obviously we were mistaken. The end result was that we stopped attending the church, stopped sitting in meditation circles, stopped going away for weekends on various courses and left the world of spooks, spirits, ghoulies and ghosties behind us.

*thinks* this is kind of ballsing up the witty, funny little story I had lined up for you. Damn those memories!

So. Shaking off the past and moving on…

Since mum is long gone and we have a new life down in the deep south we have thought several times we might have a look at the local spiritualist church.

So on Monday we did.

Off we popped and arrived in good time for the service. As we arrived at the door we were surprised to see a very busy and bustling church. The lady at the door asked us for our tickets. “It’s a ticket do tonight.”

Oh no!! We didn’t know there was a special speaker on.

“You can buy a ticket on the door if you like.”

“Brilliant, how much.”

“£15.00 each.”

WHAAAAA……..are you kidding? It used to be a fiver for a special at our church.”

“It’s a great speaker, it’s up to you.”

We decided to go in, it had been a bugger of a day and we felt we deserved it.

We took our seats on a row nearish to the back, an excitable crowd of people sat in front of us. Just as I was saying to Boofuls that the rows were very close together and I felt like I was in a plane, the woman in front of me flicked her hair back and hit me straight in the face with it!

I jumped back into my chair,it’s a good job the seat behind was empty or I’d have headbutted them.

The excited throng ( I said THRONG not THONG! Tsk!) settled down eventually as the speaker was introduced.

“Ey up!” he said. “It’s bin a long while sin’ I were in Paignton. Me mate Val W used t’ come ‘ere a lot.”

“Blimey, I thought, “He’s from up north. Val W? THE Val W? We know her!”

We settled down to listen to a medium who not only gave amazing evidence of life after death but was also a very good public speaker. It’s quite unusual to get a person who can do both and I was starting to enjoy myself.

“Now, if you understand what I’m talking about, stick yer ‘and up in th’ air. When I speak to you, answer me because I work on a voice link and they *nods towards heaven* need to hear you. Otherwise it’s like being on t’ phone and just nodding. Alright? That’s not too difficult is it?”

It would appear that it was in fact too difficult. The row of people in front of us, which of course included Flicky hair, who at this point was pulling her clothes around as if they were incredibly itchy and she was wanting to remove them, looked at each other every time the medium spoke and started to whisper to each other “That’s us! That’s us! instead of sticking their hand up in th’ air as instructed.

Eventually he noticed their looks, gestures and whispers and spoke to them. They received a wonderful message which included some very good evidence.I was pleased as it turned out they’d recently suffered a major loss and were in need of a bit of comfort.

However.

My lovely, fluffy and warm feelings towards them rapidly turned to intense irritation when after their message they proceeded to chat amongst themselves discussing it.

Rude.

I didn’t pay £30 to listen to them chat amongst themselves.

Boxfuls, sensing my irritation and fearing that I’d lean over and tell them in words of no more than one syllable each to be quiet, kept touching my arm and giving me warning looks. “Just keep calm. They don’t know the etiquette.”

Etiquette? It’s got nothing to do with etiquette, it’s simple good manners not to talk during any performance but especially a speaker in church.

‘It’s nothing more than good manners,’ I quietly fumed too myself as I watched Flicky hair pull her clothes around and lean across three people to talk to her bestie at the other end of the row. BY this point I had stopped enjoying the service and couldn’t wait to get out of the place.

I was bitterly disappointed with the whole evening, not because we didn’t get a message but because my fragile hold on a pleasant evening after an awful day had been thwarted by a few rude strangers.

Boofuls and I drove home in silence. What a shame, we should have just kept hold of the £30.

Sometimes it doesn’t matter what you do, you are just destined to have a crap day.

Ah well, it’s over with now.

Tursey and tinkle


Somewhere along the line I seem to remember someone saying to us that summer’s were busy in B&B land but we’d have the winter to count our millions and have a few months off.

I WAS MIS SOLD!

I haven’t noticed any millions and we’ve had a total of four days off in eight months!

However, every morning I walk Douggie the doggie along the sea front and thank my lucky stars. I love my new life and I’m truly grateful for everything we have.

Not that I’m tired or anything but I was chatting to my friend on the phone the other day and I mentioned about the tursey and tinkle weekends.

“The WHAT?” She hollered down the phone before descending into cackles of derision.

At that point when I mentally replayed the conversation I realised what I’d said.

Oh bloody hell. Turkey and tinsel.

While I’m out I’ve noticed that the coaches I see are decorated up for Christmas.

Yup. It’s that time again, folks. Torbay is awash with pensioners enjoying their annual tinsel and turkey weekends. A guest was telling me he’d stayed in another hotel recently and was astounded to see dozens of inebriated pensioners having a good old Christmas knees up. “It was their Christmas day”, he told us. “Christmas dinner, party hats, crackers, the lot!”

You should see them round town, scores of rowdy pensioners with zimmer frames coming at you like drunken, belligerent snow ploughs. You’d better get out of their way because they sure ain’t getting out of yours. Bless ’em.

I suppose it will break us in gently for the young farmer’s conference next year.

Now things have calmed down a bit and most of the guests have gone home we are getting on with some decorating and revamping. I missed my way, I should have been an interior designer. I love it!

On Tuesday we are having a table top sale of all our old curtain, pictures, lamps, shades and all manner of other stuff we need to get rid of.The other hoteliers will descend like a plague of locusts in search of a bargain. It’s very true what they say, one man’s junk is another man’s treasure.

Here are a few random photos from this summer. I think I might get a few together and put a little slideshow on of beautiful Torbay just to give you a little taste of how lovely it is here.

Bye for now folks.

Copyright
Copyright
Copyright
Copyright
Copyright
Copyright
Copyright
Copyright
Copyright
Copyright

img_5441

Room 8 it is then!!


Fed up of having the worst room in the house, Boofuls and I (ok, just me) decided that some decorating was in order.

The trouble with owning a B&B is that if anything breaks in one of the guest bedrooms it quite often gets replaced from our bedroom. The end result of which is that we have the ugliest, scruffiest, dirtiest, most out dated room in the entire house.

Well I’m fed up of it. Fed up I say!

When I go to bed I turn the light off quickly so I don’t have to look at the dump that we call our bedroom. It’s just depressing. Especially for someone like me who has studied interior design and loves colour, beautiful lights and fittings and gorgeous curtains..

I think it was last decorated circa 1980 and the wallpaper has been patched up for various reasons over the years with the added on bits having a marked difference in colour. No attempt at shade matching being possible I suppose after years of fading away in the wall. The worst bit though was the bit above the bed where it looks like someone has smeared the excavations from their nose onto the wall. It made me sick to look at it.

The carpet, apart from being a grim green fleur de lys patterned eyesore has been thrown up on by the dog at least three times and has also shrunk away from the wall over the years.

The furniture, in putrid pine, was obviously used by the teenage son of the previous owners, it has stickers on the drawers, scratches, engravings and none of it matches anything else except that it’s all putrid pine.

So. Not having money to fritter away on rooms that don’t earn us money I engineered a master plan.

I decided that if I sold all my old professional cameras I’d get enough money to completely refurbish the room. Genius!

I got in touch with a camera shop who specialises in ‘pre loved’ camera equipment and shipped it all to them. Now all I have to do is sit back and wait for the money to roll in.

In the meantime, Boofuls and I decided that we’d use room 8 as our bedroom until ours was ready. It wouldn’t be possible to stay in our room as it needs to be completely gutted. I’ve ordered the new furniture, we’ve picked a new carpet and I’m researching curtains, wallpaper and light fittings. The furniture is due to be delivered in about four weeks. So exciting!

Wait! What? Excuse me Boofuls. What was that you just said? They got the date wrong and the furniture will be here Monday?

Well that puts a little spanner in the works. We’re not ready.

In light of this new information, Boofuls and I were in room 8 this afternoon deciding where we’d put all our stuff. It transpires that we have both always secretly loved that room. So much so that we’ve decided to keep it and make our room a letting room.

Busy week next week then. Happy days!!

Bloody hell


We’ve done it!! We’ve survived the summer season.

On the diary I can now see without scrolling across the screen the great big blacked out space that means we are closed for five whole days.

Five days of not getting up at 6.30 every morning. Five days of not frying eggs or any other breakfast related stuff. Five days of not having to smile and wish everyone a good morning.

Yay!

It’s been a fantastic season, we have knocked spots off last years figures but now we are totally exhausted and ready for a break. Since April we have had two days off. Once to go to a dog show and once to go to a funeral.

I’m so looking forward to waking up in the morning and my first words not being ‘oh, bloody hell’ as I have myself out of bed and stand in the bathroom brushing my teeth with my eyes closed and my head leaning against the wall.

Do we regret buying a mahoosive B&B now that we really know what it’s all about? Not at all. It’s been great but now need to slee…..zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Mite shite and seagull stools


It’s a bit of a shit post, this one. The reason for this is that we seem to have more than our fair share of er…emissions form various critters round here.

Firstly, Lashes decided to put a bird feeder in a tree in the garden. The tree that we tend to park under when the car park is full of guest’s cars. The result is that the birds gorge themselves on the delicious goodness that comes in the form of nuts and seeds and then poop it all out  – all over our car!

The other day it looked like we’d been bombarded by a squadron of seagulls suffering from the aftermath of a night on the beer followed by a good hot curry. Seagull stools covered the entire roof of the car and down the sides, so disgusting that it warranted an immediate trip to the car wash.

I wouldn’t have minded so much if the bird feeder had encouraged the song bids into the garden, oh no. All we got were the dive bombing seagulls. Tsk

Moving from the back of the house to the front, it would appear that the lime trees on our road are host to a colony of mites. Mites that drop their poo will nilly wherever they feel, but mostly all over our car, leaving it a sticky, dusty disgusting mess.

Oh well, at least our almost daily trips to the car wash mean that for once in our life we have a lovely, shiny bright car – until we park it up again. Haha.

Mmmmm…bacon


Funny thing about bacon. No matter how much I cook and serve to other people, when I step outside and smell it from someone else’s kitchen I always think, ‘Mmmmm…bacon.’

At the moment we are enjoying the calm before the storm. From next week the bookings really step up and it starts to get busy in hotel land. To while away my time  in this quietish period and to prevent boredom (ha! Fat chance of being bored with a to do list as long as my arm) I have been having a go at making some jewellery using the sea glass and shells I pick up on the beach and a few pictures. What do you think?

Copyright
Copyright
Copyright
Copyright

Then we decided duet the bank holiday that we’d pop over to Brixham on the ferry to have a look at the pirate festival. Well, you can’t turn up in a car can you.  Any self respecting pirate would hop on a boat, so we did.

It was a cold and blustery day but Boofuls cheered it up by dressing as Woodstock pirate and I went as Adam Ant pirate.  A couple of tots of rum once we landed warmed us up nicely and we soon got into the spirit of it all. There is a video of  Lashes and I having a sword fight with a couple of  buccaneers, I’ll post that when I retrieve it from Boofuls’ phone.

Copyright
Copyright

Taking a drive round Torbay the other day we were a little bit surprised to see this at the traffic lights.  A ship at the lights isn’t something you see every day, is it?

Copyright
Copyright
Copyright
Copyright

Dougie the doggie was so excited, he thought it was a huge fish to play with. haha. Once he realised it wasn’t he looked a little bit glum. Not for long though. A quick dive into the water soon sorted him out.

Copyright
Copyright

“It was very good” “Damn you”


It’s been a bit of an eye opener the last year or so as our new career as hoteliers has really taken off.

We’ve discovered that guests, or would be guests to be more precise, are totally driven by rating and reviews.

We have worked our little tushies off to make everyone’s stay here as comfortable as we possibly can. We have spent all our time since we moved in making it as clean, cosy and pleasant as possible.  It really does matter to us that people have a nice time, not only for the ratings but it’s fair to say that most hoteliers live in fear of trip advisor.

You know how it works, guest leaves, guest leaves review, end of story. Yes? Nope.

After months and months, about twelve to be exact, of hard graft we managed to get our little establishment into the top ten in our area on Trip Advisor.  YEAH!! TOP TEN!! Hearty back slaps all round!!

Next along comes a review from a guest who left that day. The review pretty much said everything was fine, they enjoyed their stay. Perfect. We’ll take that.

The guest rated us as ‘Very Good’. YEAH!! Very good! Well done us.

Next thing you know is that we have dropped FOUR PLACES in the ratings. WHAT? Why?

It would appear that being very good is not good enough. It’s so not good enough that you will get penalised for only being very good.

Anything less than an excellent rating isn’t deemed as good at all. Anything less than an excellent rating is essentially a poor rating.

That, my dear reader, is why hoteliers live in fear of Trip Advisor.

Get one of those people who say to your face that everything is lovely and no, there really isn’t anything you can get them, they are having a lovely time – and then leave a stinking review are absolutely the worst kind of guest. We’ve only had one of those, luckily.

So. on behalf of all the bed and breakfast and small hotel owners, the  people who live, breathe and sleep their jobs, who’s whole livelihood depends on the income they get from their guests, I beg of you. Please play fair. If you have a complaint, give the hotelier a chance to put it right rather than lie sweetly to their faces and then leave a stinker review.

Bingo!


It’s official. Munki  now sounds posh. Well, to northern ears she definitely sounds posh. It’s amazing how quickly children can pick up a new accent.

I took her for a riding lesson on Saturday and she referred to the little pony she was riding as a ‘hoarse’ rather than as she would have done a year ago as a ‘hoe-iss’. I love it!!

However, it’s only on a surface level, as I realised recently.

If you live in the UK and have watched tv at any point at all in the last little while then you can’t fail to have seen that irritating advert for Gala Bingo. You know the one:

The one with amply proportioned women  singing Gala la la. Gala la la. Gala la la hey hey hey BINGO!’

Sorry. That will be in your head all day now. Irritating but effective advertising.

Anyway, Munki was singing it in the bath. I was listening and chuckling away to myself. The I heard THIS:

“Gala la la. Gala la la. Gala la la hey hey hey BINGAW!”

Haha. Not quite so posh after all then.

She went away on a school trip week last week. Not exactly a safari adventure, they were about half an hour away but they loved it. Trying to make the most of child free time we suggested a grown up meal in a grown up restaurant.

Lashes of course had other ideas. She and her dad, Boofuls are partial to a game of bingo and have been out a few times to our local bingo emporium since we’ve lived here. I have been happy to babysit and get the house to myself. Bingo? I’d rather put pins in my eyes.

“Let’s all have a grown up night at bingo. It’s not often we all get to go out together”.  Not wanting to be a party pooper, I agreed, having been assured that it’s different now and it’s LOADS of fun.

We turned up at the bingo hall. Right mum, we have to get you registered. Me, Boofuls, Lashes and Lashes’ beau, The Prof, all stood at the enrolment desk. Who’s enrolling then, is it you?” the chap on the desk enquired to The Prof. “Actually, it’s me.” I volunteered and then laughed out loud as his eyebrows flew up so high they nearly fell off his head.

“I’m the last one you thought it would be, aren’t I?”

He agreed that I was and enquired as to how had I’d got to my age without going to bingo. Easily, I thought, it’s more painful than pins in my eyes. I didn’t say it out loud as I didn’t want to offend him or upset Lashes who was clearly enjoying having us all there.

It’s changed a bit since I last played bingo many, many years ago when my bezzie forced me to go as birthday treat. Birthday punishment more like! I remember spending the afternoon terrified of speaking too loudly and incurring the wrath of the assembled matriarchs, or calling out ‘house’ at the wrong time, getting all hot and bothered about  keeping up with scanning and marking my tickets quickly enough to keep up with the caller who spoke at a speed I didn’t even think was possible. The whole event was terrifying and not one I’ve been keen to repeat. How on earth could that be called entertainment?

Now they have electronic screens and you don’t have to do anything except watch it and press ‘claim’ when you  win. Exciting, eh? NOPE!

There are the big money games though where you have to tap the screen when a number pops up. Ooh, that must be exciting, eh?

SNORE!!!!

The chicken and chips were quite good though and to be honest, it all became a lot less boring when I won a tenner. Shame I didn’t win the four grand, I might have been persuaded to go back for a second visit.

It’s my birthday this week.  Happy birthday to me. I’ll be 21 and a few months old. How many months. I don’t know – I can’t count that high.

My natural inclination has always been to moan and bitch about getting older but I don’t do that any more as that’s an option my little brother no longer has and it seems a bit crass to complain about being alive when he isn’t.  So now I enjoy life to the full (except for bingo) and make loads of new friends, explore the beaches and learn new skills.  Life is good, enjoy it while you can!

Flop, flump, sigh, fart


Lying in my bed the other night trying to get a bit of shut eye, and failing dismally I might add, I was struck by how much noise and activity there is in our bedroom.

Stop it!! You have such a rude mind! That isn’t what I meant at all. Wash your mind out!

Moving on…

The dog regularly sighs and walks round the room before flopping down with another huge sigh, sometimes stopping for a loud and slurpy drink from his bowl.  Unfortunately, I’m always on epilepsy alert and when he gets restless I’m always watching out for signs of an impending fit. Last night he did one of his nightly rounds of the bedroom and then flopped down on the floor at my side of the bed with his usual massive sigh. Suddenly the most horrendous smell wafted up from the floor. I can’t even begin to describe it. Oh my God! I turned over and put my hand over my mouth and nose in a vain attempt to  keep the sickening stench from assailing my nostrils further. God. It was horrendous.

Boofuls slept on, blissfully unaware of the gas attack going on in our bedroom. As he slept he snored gently like a little lawnmower. Eventually Douggie the doggie stopped farting and flopping round the room and settled down. That was Boofuls’s cue to take the snoring up a gear.

Good Lord! It was like lying next to a pneumatic drill singing a duet with a cow! DDDDDRRRRRRRRRRRRRMOOOOOOOOOOO!!

SHUDDUP AND TURN OVER!

Amazingly he did.

So did I.

CAWCAWSKREEEEEEEE!!

What the …?

Someone forgot to tell that screeching seagull that it’s called a dawn chorus because it happens at dawn, not the middle of the bloody night.  It’s no wonder I’m always exhausted. What I wouldn’t give for a peaceful nights sleep!

Munki on the other hand…

was in the bath and Lashes was putting clothes away in the next room. As usual, the telly on and she was watching hoarders. Munki shouted for her  to turn it off as she didn’t like it, “I don’t like ghost stories,  I’ll have nightmares”. “It’s not about ghosts, its about hoarders.” ” Oh right. Are they nobs?”

Lashes, shocked and trying to keep a straight face asked her to repeat what she’d said, Munki duly obliged: “Those people, the hoarder, are they nobs?”

Poor old Lashes  was shaking with the effort of trying not to laugh.

“Where did you hear that? From Youtube?  Nob is a swear word, it means you’re and idiot, don’t say it again and don’t watch that you tube channel again.”

Munki: “How many ‘o’s does it have in it?”

“One.”

” Oh. Then it’s not the same word.  I meant noob.”

Lashes collapsed on the floor laughing.

I’d forgotten how unwittingly entertaining a young child can be.