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This. Is summer.

Only we don’t live here.

We live here.

Where it’s sadly sensible to wear a fleece jacket and jeans on the 31st of July.

Which is what we were doing when we ended up on tip toes on the top of a stool reaching for something.

Something other than this, that is.

Until we saw this. Crowded in the corner.  Smothering in dust.

And so while peeps in another part of the state were pleasantly sunburning, we were assembling last year’s Christmas craft in coats.

I’d say things were going well…

to about here.

At which time these two tried to squeeze and pipe and squirt the good stuff…and I could feel it…

the collective cringing of cake decorators…everywhere.

Because what started like this…

Finished like this.

Only it was perfect…

in their eyes.

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