google-site-verification: google935433b691795853.html KRISTY BERRIDGE: 2016-08-28

Wednesday, 31 August 2016

On this chilly Saturday morning, I sit sprawled in a garden chair in an English back garden in the middle of Sidcup, listening to foreign animals click and chirp while I deliberate over The Cockney's impending death.
On holiday it's typical to lose out on precious hours of sleep, but since arriving in England and travelling through Paris, I've had less than six hours per night. Ordinarily this wouldn't bother me, but since every day has been crammed with a plethora of activities that include needing to schedule in a fart--I'm knackered.
This morning I planned a luxurious sleep-in which was consequently thwarted by The Cockney's exuberant nostril orchestra. Never in my life have I been that close to a freight train and yet this morning one rolled directly on top of me. Blissful hours of sleep were robbed from this innocent victim who was without earplugs or apology. Thus, I now sit in this overly-green garden, eyeing off the children's tree-house in the corner, fantasizing about whether or not a bed will fit in its wooden hull.
So, after establishing that my shoulders don't fit through the hatch of the tree-house, I figured I'd exercise to shake off my weariness.
Thirty minutes later I have indulged in approximately fifteen unscheduled farts, swallowed some sort of flying insect, almost wet myself after a jumping-jack went slightly wrong and managed to kick my toe on a garden paver.
Upside? I found a shovel in the garden shed that should fit nicely wrapped around The Cockney's head when he finally wakes up ...

Kristy ;)

Sunday, 28 August 2016

Beautiful Paris

So here we are; me and The Cockney, still basking in the glory of the city of love.
The lingering smell of Indian faecal matter has been replaced with sweat-stained clothes and a tub of soy yogurt left unattended.

Not romantic? You're probably right, but as I frown at the now black rear-end of my favourite pair of shorts, I reminisce about its happenstance; a bike ride through Parisian streets in forty degree heat, smiling lovingly at The Cockney as the perspiration in my pants gathers momentum.

The River Seine now taking up permanent residence in my undercarriage, we take in the extraordinary cabaret show at The Moulin Rouge. Feathers, sequins and abundant displays of nipple tantalise; so much so that I contemplate blinding The Cockney with his beer bottle as he grins excessively.

Finally hitting the hay and I am pleased to report that although sleep overcame us both rather quickly, so did The Cockney's exuberance to repeat the cabaret show within our hotel room. The sequins and costumes were absent, but the enthusiasm was more than present as his ear-sucking techniques led to the ingestion of one of my favourite pair of earrings--just another reason to celebrate 100 Days of Happiness ...

Kristy ;)