Bath time

 Oh the blessed back log. I'm trying to recount what happened to dearest Esther back in August. Since our last corporate reporting period, we've moved from the white heat of the city to the bucolic west country. And in doing so Esther has taken up the great country pursuits - paddling non-committally in rivers, walking, whilst moaning, up and down hills in the countryside and despairing about the lack of pomengranates in the local Tesco Express. I mean really. That and lack of Gu pots. 

So far so very good. She has also been promoted in certain respects. No longer does she sprawl on bespoke foam she instead is raised aloft in the top of the bunk bed. While there were fears that she would fall to earth in a Bowie-esque fashion, she has proved herself to be adept at staying in bed. Though this can obviously change at any moment given her capacity for the splendidly random.

Happily, her teeth have fallen out naturally so the risk of her knocking them out via some dandyprattery has been reduced but there is still a low lying sense that catastrophe is never too far away. Here she is at her gappiest.