The “Official Photographs” !

The cry came from above. Well, upstairs at least… The heavenly voice was Irina, asking a most unheavenly question. ” John, have you emptied Anna’s potty?”

Right, now lets get this into perspective! I am somewhat Coprophobic ! I hate shitty things. When Chris & Irina first stayed with us to have the baby I made one thing clear (well, maybe two things!) – I can’t breastfeed, and I don’t do nappies. Carol has the singular pleasure of sorting out the dog-shit in the house. On the odd occasion when poor Gwen is taken for a walk by me, I am left gagging at the thought of clearing up after her. So, “did I empty Anna’s potty?!”? No bloody chance!

Hmm, Irina left it in the bathroom: she maintains that she has not had a memory lapse – which would be entirely forgiveable given how little sleep she actually gets each night -and that ‘miraculously’ Anna’a morning offering had been deposited down the loo. Chris was walking – just – but had not really made it to consciousness. He gruntingly denied everything (life, the universe). Carol, on the other hand – horribly awake and bouncing, waxed lyrical in her worse Irish accent, about the “Miracle of St Anna and the Immaculate Potty” . Ask yourself, would you want to be living in this household? I have sectioned people for less than this!

Anyway, the story was forgotten as the Vatican took no interest in creating a shit free new Welsh saint for children, and we got on with our own particular brand of sanity.

That was on the weekend. sadly, like most miracles, there is often a logical explanation. Tuesday morning: Carol leaves for work at an unearthly hour. Everyone else sleeps on. Finally, St Anna awakes, and Irina & Chris carry on with the excitement of daily routine. John is rescued from the Arms of Morpheus by a message from Chris.. “John, don’t let Gwen lick you, she has just cleared Anna’s potty!”

And the moral of the story? That’s up to you!

Just a couple of shots from watching the rugby over the weekend, when we tried to enlist Anna by putting a Welsh shirt on her – she has room to grow in it.

Catching her in the traditional Welsh costume tested the capabilities of the Nikon P6000 to the limit. She is constantly on the move now, so I’ll try and get some more tomorrow when the light is better.