Sharks, crocodiles, dinosaurs and wet floors

"... are all very dangerous," declared H, having woken us pre-dawn this morning with something important to say.

If a job is worth doing (and then bagging).......

On a number of occasions, whilst out for a walk over the last couple of weeks, I have noticed a phenomenon that is simply mind-boggling. I am referring to the odious practice of hanging dog shit in trees. The more I think about it, the more absurd the act becomes.

Picking up after your dog is, let's face it, a pretty unpleasant task. I don't condone it, but I can see why some dog owners turn a blind eye when Rover pinches a loaf. On the other hand, as a runner who has often got back from a training session, only to tread the unthinkable into the house, I am eternally grateful to those who do clean up after their pets.

This is where I just don't get it. Who gets halfway through the job and then thinks, my work is done? As a public footpath user, my debt to society is paid. I'll just adorn this bush, and let someone else enjoy the final act of bag into bin. It makes you wonder how these people decorate their trees at Christmas.

What do you call a baby donkey?

Sunday saw our first 2008 visit to the local children's farm park. H still regards most of the residents with suspicion, but on this occasion one new arrival met with a certain degree of approval. Esme the donkey had foaled just days before; the staff were eager to name him. I asked H what he would call the young colt.

"Donk!" he replied despairingly, as if I was the only person on the planet that didn't know.

Fighting over an apple

"It's myPod too!" she screamed before taking it from me. I told people at work we had bought ourselves an iPod. They said there would be trouble. They were right.

Giving and receiving compliments

A few days before Christmas, whilst B and I were driving down to her parents' house, we started talking about how we'd stopped paying each other compliments since our children had arrived in 2005. Spending much less time together, coupled with new responsibilities as parents had resulted in a gradual decline in our expression of mutual appreciation. This hadn't been a conscious decision from either of us. It was something that had just happened over time. Sitting in the car, the children asleep in the back seats, we decided to rekindle this part of our relationship. "You start then," I said, thinking of all the things that I love about my beautiful wife.

"Hmmmm..." she said quizzically after about ten minutes. "You're quite good at parking."

On yer bike!

I don't normally pedal this kind of thing. Puns in the comments section please.

But could he survive a weekend at our house?

Bear Grylls is talking about a potential series in which mere mortals get dropped into extreme survival situations alongside him. I can hear the call of the wild enticing me to apply. To hold out against some of the harshest conditions on the planet seems increasingly like an invaluable learning experience; I still haven't replaced B's kitchen.

Highly skilled workforce

Don Taylor's post on the our highly skilled workforce made me laugh. Which one are you?

Feed the fish

They follow your mouse. Lots more at abowman. I like the spider!

Love is...

"If we were to win the lottery," dreamed B the evening before last, "I'd still want you to be around."