Last night I headed into London, to go to a Holiday Mega Meetup as part of a Women in Technology Network Thing I’m a member of. It was grand fun. I won LK a rubber duck by dint of wearing my Terribly Tasteful Christmas Sweater (it’s from Boden). I drank two glasses of wine and ate an heroic quantity of festive sushi. We were rubbish at the quiz, and I had #metoo Mansplained to me (which was annoying). I missed the penultimate train home, and managed to leave my hat on the underground. Realising this as I exited the drain, I shot back in to see if the train was still there. It wasn’t – but my hat was sitting on a chair on the platform. HURRAH!
I got home, and heard all about LK’s day. This involved sandpits, rejecting her Christmas Lunch, playing with pompoms and bits of sparkly silver lametta and toddling everywhere. I learned that she, too, had lost her hat on the way home. Fortunately, she managed to drop it out of the buggy (despite being hermetically sealed in the raincover) onto the path and someone very kind had poked it into the chain-link fence which borders the path. I retrieved it, very soggy, on the way to nursery this morning. HURRAH!
Her hat, however, needs washing. Less hurrah. It’s very soggy and muddy. Which is a change from covered in cheese and snot, I suppose.
Seriously. How much snot can one small girl produce? And wipe on everything?