Usually on Labour weekend (as was this long weekend here) we get outside in the garden, when we’re not on holiday somewhere else. Good stuff, like trying to make headway against the creeping jungle; planting the spuds; obsessing (yet again) about the rats.
Not this weekend though.
It rained every day except Saturday morning (when, as is usual, I was slothing in bed). So no outdoors work was had. Luckily we had some diversions: R.’s parents came around to entertain the children (well, not really just for that, but we shamelessly took advantage of it); that spectacular new Bravia advertisement; and lots of books.
How our girls love books, especially now that B₂, after a year at school, is starting to grok the power of the written word, and is exercising her own growing power over it as often as she can. I’m reading my book, and she peers over my shoulder and starts reading it aloud to me, painstakingly sounding out meaning from the tiny words.
Although I’ll have to be a bit more careful about my reading material in future.