Dolphins Are Gay Sharks

After the fabby dabby doo dah English exam (and it was excellent), the usual congregation of Bishops trundled to the park, for a picnic. Wahey for spontaneous park gatherings. We'd told Krease that no boys were allowed, but alas, and alack, she invited her lump of a boyfriend. Who is sometimes known as Moses. And, quelle surprise, along trotted Oli and Michael, pretending that they had suddenly decided that Weybridge park was a good area for basketballing.

So, that was it.

Off galloped our plans for a man-free day.

Bugger.

The afternoon was an assortment of:

• Sunbathing (yes, I have munchkin cheeks. Again).
  
• Eating sandwiches.
• Getting basketballs stuck in trees.
• Getting shoes stuck in trees in an attempt to remove said basketball.
• Being sat on.
• Sunbathing.
• Being leaned on.
• Eating yet more food.
• Having an apple core thrown at us by a group of les pikeys. Ooh, scary.
• Shielding the view of Kris and Joe, and Steve and Oli. Yikes.
• Going food shopping. Again.
• And paddling, with Emma.

I love the park.

But, no tan lines.

I'm not impressed.

You would have thought that in spending FIVE WHOLE HOURS in the park, I would have achieved at least a little bit of a tan. Some evidence that I showed my tummy (yes, Thomas, even with its gargantuan, whale-like, blancmancheness. Shut up.) to the entire world. But no. I am pale as a polar bear who has been bleached and bleached, and left out in the sun to dry for three years. Very pale.

But anyway, thank ye, my childers, for an excellent afternoon.

Are we doing it again tomorrow?