Pads has been fervently colouring in a celtic pattern today - part of a pack that friends bought him, because it included illuminated letters. He's been umming and ahhing about having a haircut, ahead of all his hair falling out, but off he went. There was much merriment as they reviewed the queue of balding gentlemen, considering how long (or short) they were likely to spend under the scissors. This was a bit rich, it struck them laughing, considering how bald Pads would soon be, bald as the proverbial coot. Inside, the tone was more serious, the barber was gutted for him and, as when he went before, refused to accept payment. Anyway, Pads is a lot neater now up top, with the exception of a fraying line of dissolving stitches.
Then it was off to IKEA for a large helping meatballs and donuts, washed down with a cup of tea in front of the Holland v. Denmark match. Tonight we took him to Cardiff Bay to bid Au revoir to Celine (Johnson :-) who's leaving us to return to France. We will all miss her initiative, industry, lively warm smiliness, and highly endearing miss-pronounciations ;-)) (and, yes, I'm quite sure my attempts at French are far worse!).
Pads has gone to bed, contemplating an early start, seeing it as slightly cruel to give a boy steriods and then starve him. He's wondering what he can cram in before starting his fast 6am. He can still drink up till about 10am.
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