I'm back I'm back I'm back

Sorry about the absence, gang. I've been in Blighty for a week or so, and although access to a 'puter was possible I guess I was just not in the blogzone. The good news is I got to see lots of lovely people, their arms and legs and everything: this is healthy after too much virtual Internet living. Poke yourself. You have limbs, too! Is it time you went out, sniffed the air, leapt about a bit?

First things first: joint first prize to Becca and Strugglingauthor for your captions! Your prize will be either a) a picture of my funny bathroom or b) a picture of my broken washing machine, posted right here right now. You -vous -decide.

I am feeling odd about being back in the land of the white cross. It's not home, but nor is London. Also my language brain is malfunctioning; "Je voudrais un packet of crisps bitte," and so on.

The chubby one is fine. She's huge, like a plum pudding. The sitting is going well, and so is the troughing, but in the sleep competition she gets null points. Every other night there is intermittent wailing that only my bosoms will placate. This is not a good look as I wish to stop breastfeeding one day, preferably before she can say "Can you get that white cushiony thing out of my face please, Mum?" Nor will she take a bottle. Apparently the way forward is those brown teats that are meant to look like nipples. I meant to buy one the other day, but came over all coy in the chemist.