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January 2008

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January 21, 2008



Happy new year and that debs, another great post... but i don't like that picture on your website... it scares me... it also looks like some kind of mighty boosh character - it terrifies me if i'm honest.

yeah and the one on the left of you as a witch - maybe change that one as well


Little More

Och, the mirth! You are a cheeky so-and-so, oh Toasted One. I challenge you to supply me with a better photo for the website. You've got two hands (and some snaps of me, surely).

Ha HA! Gauntlet down, my butterable friend!


It's experiences like that poor boy's had at the hands (or perhaps I should say voice) of Git and Scoutmaster that makes my job so difficult and so permanent!



It is the experiences of many people like this young lad has had at the hands (or perhaps I should say atteh voices) of Git and Scoutmaster that makes my job so difficult and so enduring!

Quite funny as an observer though.


Perfectly Random

Great post. Really enjoyed reading it.

Keep it up.




Buy Preseed

Interesting post! Hmm i love reading your story. Hmm keep posting.

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He nipped up there like a...oh, I don't know, like a gazelle chasing a squirrel in about the time it took me to look down at my feet, see that I was wearing wellies and realise I was buggered for tree climbing. But I love trees, me. And heights. One of my favourite-ever comments on any school report I ever got was; “Deborah appears to have no fear of heights”. It made me feel all Bionic-Womany (I was only five) and super-cool. This feeling has never left me. So with this passion for all things tree-ey and a greedy head for heights it seems cruel and tragic that I am absolutely shite at climbing trees. Unfortunately this is a Fact that I forget every single time I am faced with a Tree That Must Be Climbed. The Fact will, in fact, stay fast asleep in my subconscious even as I approach the trunk of the Tree and take my first firm handhold. As I make my initial foray above lower branch level, the Fact is only just stretching itself and wondering what's for breakfast. By the time it is pouring itself a coffee and leisurely perusing the Sunday supplements I have got myself into a mild pickle with a mid-level branch, but I regain control of the ascent. It is just after this point, though, just before the Fact is wondering if it can get away with not brushing its teeth that it suddenly straightens its bathrbe and pops into my head, manifesting itself in the dreaded question: How am I going to get down?

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