Forever blowing bubbles
Rosie with her wonderful bubble machines
Here I am trying to persuade my wife that she really isn’t fat, but only because she is sat awkwardly on my knee. (She is really slim you know) and Rosie has just got onto the plinth. We like Rosie.
Rosie makes us happy with her bubble machines and bottles of bubble mixture. The fact that me and the missus have done serious damage to a bottle of 10 year old single malt has nothing to do with it whatsoever. Bubbles. Ahhhh!
I admire the people who have to get on the plinth at 2 in the morning seemingly only for the entertainment of the insomniacs and the drunks. And they still think of doing something fun like getting multiple bubble machines out. Respect. I have a nice easy slot at noon, which is great for the lunchtime crowd (half the London office are apparently going to come along to laugh at me), it does mean that I am going to be that little bit more “exposed” though.
The best suggestion for things to do I have had so far is to set up the “Trafalgar Square Helpdesk”. So many people think it is a good idea and it is definitely the way I am heading.
Fortunately I will be more sober when I do that. For now I am going to metaphorically wave goodbye to Rosie and wish her well. I have a whiskey induced bed head on now.