So says the message scrawled on our kitchen noticeboard.
Hmmm, a previously unheard of rock band from the 1980s? The title of Lynne Truss's latest book? Or an oddly worrying euphemism?
That reminds me of a book project I had to shelve ages ago. It was about a giant House Martin that stole bed linen to build its nest. The working title was Sheets, Loots and Eaves, but my publisher could see complications and legal proceedings written all over it.
Back to the noticeboard. As is often the case, the truth is much more prosaic, the result of a tailoring crisis and a glut of apples and bananas. The message was written by our lass, and I have used it by way of introduction to my latest guest blogger... the wonderful lady herself.
During the recent cold spell, accompanied by her trusty pal, Nik, she was able to capture some frosty images of our neighbourhood.
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| Grand Union Canal at Linford Wharf |
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| Fire and ice on Beech leaves |
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| Linford Manor Park |
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