Bud has greying Afro hair that's in need of cutting at the moment. It was standing on end as he emerged from under the bed covers. Back-lit by the light from the window, those grey fuzzy wiggles - you couldn't really call them curls -look like flames, rising to a point at the crown of his head.
And as I write this, he's bellowing at me from the kitchen - complaining that I've, yet again, not thrown the empty jam jars out but left them on the sink unit top. Blah. Little fire ball. Such a dear heart and such a pain in the neck at times...
Thank goodness for blogs, a place to let off a little steam...
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