C'est Ted. C'est une Buuurger.

Firstly we should all say "bonjourno to Monsieur Ted le Burger." He is a hirsute little bugger with flowing locks of feathers and is quite delightful. And he is from Luxembourg which means he survived the coccyx breaking, strapping down medieval torture style processes that apparently characterise Luxembourgish labours. I know I know. It's only a matter of time before faceless unelected bureaucrats enforce these policies (whoever discovered that breaking a coccyx made labour easier is clearly an odd odd man) on England as part of a conspiracy to crush our little Isle's plucky spirit but let's not think about that today. 

Guten Matin, Ich suis Ted, J'bin une Luxembourger.

Secondly, sorry for the delays in posting more pictures of little Nancy. Work and babies and life keep getting in the way of all this delightful bog nonsense. In the last three weeks all sorts of things have happened, Bertie can now smile, chatter away like an addled nutter, has fallen in love with 8 silk turtles and pooed on the carpet. 

She is also the owner of a pair of neoprene shorts to go swimming in. It's never too early to buy baby fetishwear. Yesterday she had a bowel movement that was so explosive it almost felled me as I walked down the Euston Road and the evacuation managed to escape the nappy and two layers of clothing to splatter my shirt with that abnormally bright yellow poo that is her trademark. How delightful. 

We've not had her weighed recently but as you can probably tell she is not struggling to survive.

She also has a passport, which is vaguely absurd. Although her passport picture is a chuddy wonder and no one would ever suspect her jihadist traits. 

Poo Orgasm

Thimble Scared.

I'll do you. I will. Just you watch.