Eldest's bezzy mate -- let's call her May -- was round & about Broom Acres on Saturday morning. Luckily we were out of mini Mars Bars; she'd already cleaned us out of those during the previous week. Any road up, having admired a quick sketch that she'd dashed off, I asked her to do one of myself, and here's the result.

Now, this strikes me like a pre-production storyboard cell from Corpse Bride. Not so much McFly, more like McFlown. Sought a second opinion from the Lady of the House: that's very good, she said to May in an unpatronising fashion that I have yet to master. Apparently that is my likeness.

May, still around, somehow missed lunch, and mentioned this to me & Eldest later that afternoon when we'd biked into town. She felt a bit better after one extra large hot dog with ketchup, one pack of Softmints (blue), half a choccy muffin from Costa Coffee and 500ml of Orangina.

Meanwhile, for those anxiously following The Boy's weekly spelling test results, last week was practice, practice, practice. He dashed off JUMP, he reeled off HOUSE, he knocked off DON'T: dee-oh-en-flick-tee. I was confident that he'd score at least 6/10.

Home on Friday evening: Dad, I got 2 out of 10. Two? TWO? Transpired that we'd been learning completely the wrong set of words. D'oh!