NEXT DAY
Kylie and Justin woke just after dawn to the sound of a blood-curdling, bubbling scream. They leapt out of bed as one, and headed out to the landing. Nothing. Justin called 000.
An hour later, a policeman knocked on the door.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he said, “are you the folk who called Emergency?”
“We are” said Justin, “is everything OK?”
“Ummm..” said the policeman, “we're not sure. Do you know if your neighbour Mrs Gabbage was home last night?”
“Well, she was banging on the wall yesterday evening, and whenever the baby woke up,” stated Kylie, “or at least someone was – from her apartment, as usual.”
“Oh...” said the policeman, “You see, all we found was a pile of clothing and some gunge... ummm... do you know if she was a witch, at all?”
Justin and Kylie looked at each other, perturbed. “We think so?”
“Hmmmm... suicide, then,” pondered the policeman. “The door was locked, the windows were bolted... she had to have poured that water on herself. Unless of course she had a leak somewhere... hehehe... sorry, terrible taste to be making jokes, so sorry, I'll leave now!”
“OH. MY. GOD.” squealed the fairy godfather, “She was THAT sort of witch? I never would have guessed. I can't imagine how she did it though, she only should have melted a little! Oh darlings, the bill's on me, I feel terrible!”
Half an hour later, the fairy godfather called them back. “You know how the old idiot died?” he demanded, “Eddy the brownie saw it all. She was preparing a 'pee yourself every 5 minutes' hex for your baby, the naughty wench! Then she tripped and got it on herself instead... and lo and behold, pee melts witches too! She was hoist with her own petard!”
The baby cooed and giggled contently.
24 November 2007
The Changeling - Part 2
The next day, 2 hours of broken sleep later, they had their answer.
“It's that hag who lives next door to you, dearies” explained the fairy godfather, “she's hated you for years, apparently your kitchen tap drips far too loudly.”
Kylie and Justin looked at each other, confusion waxing and waning. “THAT'S why she kept banging on the wall in the middle of the night?” Justin asked, “Sheesh, we thought she thought we were having sex or something!”
“What do we do now?” asked Kylie.
“Wellll...” the fairy godfather drawled, examining a nail, “We could counter-curse her – it's only fair. And she'd be so busy getting rid of it she'd take her energy away from keeping up her own curses”
“Ummm...” said Kylie. “Would that hurt her?”
“Ohhh, you're no fun!” pouted the fairy godfather. “Alright, just something annoying, then. A leaky tap in her kitchen. And I'll charge you mate's rates, because your husband's so darn cute! Rowwwwr!” And with a flick of his wrist, he vanished.
“That stupid woman!” yelled Kylie, then quieted her voice when a banging on the wall was heard. “She's caused herself more annoyance just to upset us – what a twit! Do you think she's incompetent? Mentally unstable?”
“Probably, darling,” Justin grinned, “after all, it takes a strange person to curse someone... or arrange for it!” He ducked and ran, with a skill born of long practice.
“It's that hag who lives next door to you, dearies” explained the fairy godfather, “she's hated you for years, apparently your kitchen tap drips far too loudly.”
Kylie and Justin looked at each other, confusion waxing and waning. “THAT'S why she kept banging on the wall in the middle of the night?” Justin asked, “Sheesh, we thought she thought we were having sex or something!”
“What do we do now?” asked Kylie.
“Wellll...” the fairy godfather drawled, examining a nail, “We could counter-curse her – it's only fair. And she'd be so busy getting rid of it she'd take her energy away from keeping up her own curses”
“Ummm...” said Kylie. “Would that hurt her?”
“Ohhh, you're no fun!” pouted the fairy godfather. “Alright, just something annoying, then. A leaky tap in her kitchen. And I'll charge you mate's rates, because your husband's so darn cute! Rowwwwr!” And with a flick of his wrist, he vanished.
“That stupid woman!” yelled Kylie, then quieted her voice when a banging on the wall was heard. “She's caused herself more annoyance just to upset us – what a twit! Do you think she's incompetent? Mentally unstable?”
“Probably, darling,” Justin grinned, “after all, it takes a strange person to curse someone... or arrange for it!” He ducked and ran, with a skill born of long practice.
The Changeling - Part 1
Kylie looked at the baby and pulled out another handful of hair. Was this why new mothers complained about losing hair after giving birth? She was honestly at her wits' end. He wasn't sleepy. He wasn't hungry. He'd burped 5 times – surely enough to bring up any wind. He had a clean nappy, no nappy rash. He wasn't hot, he wasn't cold. The baby screwed his face into an uglier grimace and turned up the scream volume another notch. The old lady in the flat next door banged on the wall, but Kylie could only hear the banging while the baby was taking a breath.
Justin wandered in, bleary-eyed and looking like death warmed up.
“What's wrong with him?” he asked.
“I HAVE NO BLOODY IDEA!!!” screamed Kylie, snapping the cords that tied her to a semblance of sanity.
Justin took a few steps back and stared at her from the relative safety of the hallway.
“Ummmm...” he attempted, then gave up and went back to bed.
The baby stopped screaming, stuck his thumb in his mouth, and went to sleep. Ruth stretched out on the floor next to the cot and slept too – for a whole half hour.
“There there dear, it'll get easier,” soothed Kylie's fairy godmother, Ruth, on the phone the next morning. “They all go through this love, you can survive it!”
Kylie sighed, hung up the phone, and wondered.
Justin brought her a cup of coffee. “What'd she say?” he asked.
“Oh, the usual crap,” she said “It'll get easier!” She kicked the fridge, then hopped around the kitchen squealing in pain.
“Hmmm... I think maybe we need a fairy godfather on the job, darling.” Justin pondered, “And I know just the fellow!”
“Ohhh, that's terrible, pet!” George said swishily a few minutes later. “It sounds like a nasty-wasty curse. I'll see what the word on the street is, darlings. Toodle-oo!”
“A curse?” Kylie asked the empty air. “To... what? Make the baby cry? Who'd do such a horrible thing? Why on earth would anyone put a hex on a baby?”
23 November 2007
Juliette and the Beast
Once upon a time, a beautiful, intelligent woman fell in love with an ogre, because that's what beautiful, intelligent women are supposed to do.
Her name was Juliette. She was blue-eyed, with an oval face and light brown hair. Her nose was straight, symmetrical and just the right size. Her bachelor's degree hung demurely on her bedroom wall. The rose-coloured glasses she'd had since she was young and innocent sat on the bridge of her nose, making everything seem even better than it was.
His name was Urg, because that was the sound he mostly made. His fur was long, coarse and matted somewhat around his nether regions. When he farted, children fainted. When he smiled at Juliette in the pub, she swooned. Unfortunately, she assumed that this meant love, rather than intoxication and airborne poisons from chronic bad breath.
So Juliette loved Urg. She loved him with a devotion that the stars and planets themselves could envy. He moved into her flat. She cooked him dinners. She picked up his dirt-and-other-stuff-besmeared-undies from the kitchen table, the TV, and any other place it pleased him to throw them. She did his laundry and paid his credit card bill and bought him a mobile phone, and considered herself the luckiest woman in the world.
Urg, on the other hand, wasn't particularly happy. Juliette didn't have sex with him nearly often enough. She circled job ads in the newspaper for him. She encouraged him to bathe. He growled. He sulked. He started to throw completely understandable tantrums whenever she made an unreasonable demand. And Juliette smiled, and thought that all ogres were the same, you had to take the good with the bad. After all, he loved her – deeply, madly, truly.
“You don't have to date an ogre, you know,” said Juliette's friend Marge. “I mean, you could date a human being.”
“Oh goodness, what an idea!” dreamed Juliette, “But you know all the good ones are chasing after fairies and elves. No, Urg loves me, he's just a bit troubled. Growing up as an ogre, you know.”
Marge sighed, shook her head, and shut the hell up.
Three years of not-quite-bliss (nothing like it, in fact) later, Juliette asked Urg to marry her.
“Urg...” said Urg, as he watched the football.
Juliette started shopping for the dress.
Urg played World of Warcraft, and wondered vaguely where his dinner was.
“Ummm...” said Marge, “does Urg know he's getting married?”
“Of course!” scoffed Juliette. “He's an ogre, not an idiot!”
Juliette poked Urg to distract him from WoW for a second. Without a sideways glance, Urg backhanded her across the room.
“Urg” said Juliette (grunting, not talking to her fiance). “I shouldn't ave poked him.”
Marge was horrified. “I told you not to date a stupid ogre! He's beating you!”
“Yes, but only when I need it,” said Juliette, reasonably. “And he's an ogre, it's affectionate. Don't be silly, Marge, I'm going to be a bride! Can't you be happy for me?” And she skipped away happily, only a little lopsided where her ankle was a tiny bit sprained.
Juliette was euphorically happy. So was Urg, who'd just killed an elf and gotten all of his treasure (on WoW this time).
“FOOOOOOOOD!!!!” yelled Urg.
“Coming!” shouted Juliette.
Urg sniffed at the fettucini and threw it at the wall. “URG!” he stated, emphatically.
Juliette stared.
“URRRGG!” he yelled at her, and knocked her across the room again. But this time, he knocked her glasses off, and they smashed on the floor. Juliette shook her head muzzily, and stared at him again.
“Why, you're nothing but a stupid violent ogre!” she yelled, and hit Urg over the head with a baseball bat. Urg wasn't hurt, but he was a little surprised. Then she hit him in the groin, and all the matted fur in the world didn't stop that one hurting.
“URGGGGG!” he screamed, and lumbered out of the house, never to be seen again.
Juliette cried, and looked around without her glasses. The world looked so dreary without them. Everything was so grey, and ugly, and scary-looking. The glasses had made it all so pretty... and this was what it was really like?
Marge walked up the path and, seeing the door in splinters from Urg's escape, advanced carefully up the hall. “Juliette?” she called tentatively.
Juliette hunched and hesitated to turn, wondering what her best friend would look like without the glasses. Eventually she turned around. Lo and behold – her friend looked exactly the same. In a world of blah and grey, Marge stood out like a rose. “Marge, I broke my glasses!” she cried.
“Awwww, don't worry about those stupid things!” said Marge. “There's a new elf bar opened downtown... let's go perve!”
And Juliette laughed, and put on her coat, and figured that life wasn't so bad with a few good friends and a new pair of shoes now and then.
Her name was Juliette. She was blue-eyed, with an oval face and light brown hair. Her nose was straight, symmetrical and just the right size. Her bachelor's degree hung demurely on her bedroom wall. The rose-coloured glasses she'd had since she was young and innocent sat on the bridge of her nose, making everything seem even better than it was.
His name was Urg, because that was the sound he mostly made. His fur was long, coarse and matted somewhat around his nether regions. When he farted, children fainted. When he smiled at Juliette in the pub, she swooned. Unfortunately, she assumed that this meant love, rather than intoxication and airborne poisons from chronic bad breath.
So Juliette loved Urg. She loved him with a devotion that the stars and planets themselves could envy. He moved into her flat. She cooked him dinners. She picked up his dirt-and-other-stuff-besmeared-undies from the kitchen table, the TV, and any other place it pleased him to throw them. She did his laundry and paid his credit card bill and bought him a mobile phone, and considered herself the luckiest woman in the world.
Urg, on the other hand, wasn't particularly happy. Juliette didn't have sex with him nearly often enough. She circled job ads in the newspaper for him. She encouraged him to bathe. He growled. He sulked. He started to throw completely understandable tantrums whenever she made an unreasonable demand. And Juliette smiled, and thought that all ogres were the same, you had to take the good with the bad. After all, he loved her – deeply, madly, truly.
“You don't have to date an ogre, you know,” said Juliette's friend Marge. “I mean, you could date a human being.”
“Oh goodness, what an idea!” dreamed Juliette, “But you know all the good ones are chasing after fairies and elves. No, Urg loves me, he's just a bit troubled. Growing up as an ogre, you know.”
Marge sighed, shook her head, and shut the hell up.
Three years of not-quite-bliss (nothing like it, in fact) later, Juliette asked Urg to marry her.
“Urg...” said Urg, as he watched the football.
Juliette started shopping for the dress.
Urg played World of Warcraft, and wondered vaguely where his dinner was.
“Ummm...” said Marge, “does Urg know he's getting married?”
“Of course!” scoffed Juliette. “He's an ogre, not an idiot!”
Juliette poked Urg to distract him from WoW for a second. Without a sideways glance, Urg backhanded her across the room.
“Urg” said Juliette (grunting, not talking to her fiance). “I shouldn't ave poked him.”
Marge was horrified. “I told you not to date a stupid ogre! He's beating you!”
“Yes, but only when I need it,” said Juliette, reasonably. “And he's an ogre, it's affectionate. Don't be silly, Marge, I'm going to be a bride! Can't you be happy for me?” And she skipped away happily, only a little lopsided where her ankle was a tiny bit sprained.
Juliette was euphorically happy. So was Urg, who'd just killed an elf and gotten all of his treasure (on WoW this time).
“FOOOOOOOOD!!!!” yelled Urg.
“Coming!” shouted Juliette.
Urg sniffed at the fettucini and threw it at the wall. “URG!” he stated, emphatically.
Juliette stared.
“URRRGG!” he yelled at her, and knocked her across the room again. But this time, he knocked her glasses off, and they smashed on the floor. Juliette shook her head muzzily, and stared at him again.
“Why, you're nothing but a stupid violent ogre!” she yelled, and hit Urg over the head with a baseball bat. Urg wasn't hurt, but he was a little surprised. Then she hit him in the groin, and all the matted fur in the world didn't stop that one hurting.
“URGGGGG!” he screamed, and lumbered out of the house, never to be seen again.
Juliette cried, and looked around without her glasses. The world looked so dreary without them. Everything was so grey, and ugly, and scary-looking. The glasses had made it all so pretty... and this was what it was really like?
Marge walked up the path and, seeing the door in splinters from Urg's escape, advanced carefully up the hall. “Juliette?” she called tentatively.
Juliette hunched and hesitated to turn, wondering what her best friend would look like without the glasses. Eventually she turned around. Lo and behold – her friend looked exactly the same. In a world of blah and grey, Marge stood out like a rose. “Marge, I broke my glasses!” she cried.
“Awwww, don't worry about those stupid things!” said Marge. “There's a new elf bar opened downtown... let's go perve!”
And Juliette laughed, and put on her coat, and figured that life wasn't so bad with a few good friends and a new pair of shoes now and then.
07 September 2007
The Fairy and the Ogre (Part 4)
FRIDAY
Sally came into work early and relaxed. She headed straight for the kitchenette to make herself a coffee.
In front of the coffee machine, hulking and huge, stood an ogre. No mistaking it, even for a normal girl like Sally – his skin was pale green and scaly, he had two horns, and he smelt like week-old trash marinated in sewerage. The only unogre-ish thing about him was the pale pink silk hankerchief draping out of the pocket of his (huge) Armani suit.
She drew a breath to scream, and choked on the smell, coughing and spluttering.
“Don't bother screaming” said the ogre. “I'm Dan, your new boss.”
Sally stared.
The ogre stuck a hand out to be shaken. “I hear your old boss was an incredible softie.”
Moral of the Story?
There's always another manager.
Sally came into work early and relaxed. She headed straight for the kitchenette to make herself a coffee.
In front of the coffee machine, hulking and huge, stood an ogre. No mistaking it, even for a normal girl like Sally – his skin was pale green and scaly, he had two horns, and he smelt like week-old trash marinated in sewerage. The only unogre-ish thing about him was the pale pink silk hankerchief draping out of the pocket of his (huge) Armani suit.
She drew a breath to scream, and choked on the smell, coughing and spluttering.
“Don't bother screaming” said the ogre. “I'm Dan, your new boss.”
Sally stared.
The ogre stuck a hand out to be shaken. “I hear your old boss was an incredible softie.”
Moral of the Story?
There's always another manager.
The Fairy and the Ogre (Part 3)
THURSDAY
Sally and her coworkers sat at their boring cubicles, doing their boring work, and felt as though they were the luckiest people in the world. The tyrant was gone – they were free! They were still bored and dull, but life was good.
Sally and her coworkers sat at their boring cubicles, doing their boring work, and felt as though they were the luckiest people in the world. The tyrant was gone – they were free! They were still bored and dull, but life was good.
06 September 2007
The Fairy and the Ogre (Part 2)
WEDNESDAY
Sally entered the office with a hint of trepidation. Everything looked perfectly normal. She peered into her boss's office on the way to her cubicle – empty as normal (he typically got in late and left early – regular hours and overtime were for the plebs). Nothing was out of place. Probably, she thought with rising hopefulness, the cleaner had forgotten his bizarre promise 5 seconds after he'd wandered away.
Wednesday was meeting day. You'd expect a break from dull routine to be welcomed, but somehow work meetings managed to be duller and feel more routine than even the work managed to be. Maybe it was because lots of people, all radiating dullness and hopelessness, were stuck in a small space together instead of dispersing their misery over the office.
The boss walked in late (standard) with a scowl on his face (mostly standard – the only time he smiled in a meeting was when someone was about to be publicly humiliated or fired). He sat down, farted loudly (not standard) and blushed (extremely non-standard). He picked up a pen, which exploded. Not a minute into the meeting, and he looked ready to cry or explode himself. Sally wiped a drop of ink from her cheek and boggled, while trying to pretend she was noticing nothing. All around her, she heard the sound of desperately-muffled chuckles giving way to fits of fake coughing.
Brownies?
The manager thumped the desk, and said, “Right, let's start this meeting! Stuart – what's the status of -”
He coughed. He spluttered. He hacked... and out of his mouth came something looking suspiciously like a furball to Sally's practiced (cat-owning) eye.
Stuart – a bit weak-stomached at the best of times – gagged and ran out of the room. Everyone else kept to their seats, too shocked to do anything useful.
Sally smirked internally (never externally – that would be career suicide in this place). Whatever was happening, she was determined to enjoy every minute. The boss slumped, head in hands, silent.
After a number of very quiet, very boring minutes in which everyone glanced covertly around the room while trying to avoid eye-contact with anyone, the boss thumped the desk again. “Meeting adjourned!” he choked out, then strode out of the room, head held high and arms clasped over his abdomen.
Sally returned to her boring cubicle and looked at her work, thinking hard. Brownies? Mischievous ones? Coincidence? Or had the cleaner poisoned her boss's coffee cup or something? Crud, how would she explain herself to a murder investigation? “Well, Your Honour, the cleaner said he was a fairy and would grant me a wish...” She gave in and banged her head on her desk for relief.
“Sleeping again, eh? That performance review is getting worse and worse, girlie!” boomed a familiar, nasally voice. Well, he wasn't THAT sick, she mused angrily. The boss moved on to his next victim – at least, started to, before tripping over nothing and hitting his head on the ceramic ornamental fern pot. Sally choked back the giggle as he bounced to his feet and looked around wildly for whatever had tripped him. Looking just a little red, he gathered his dignity and strode off into the bookshelf. Someone broke, and a coworker was wracked with laughter. The boss, bright red now and with two lumps competing for dominance on his forhead, swore inventively and fired the nearest employee.
“Someone didn't have his morning coffee,” whispered Stuart from the other side of her cubicle. “Cripes... have you ever seen him so mad?”
“Only that time when his wife walked in, told the entire office that she hadn't had a decent shag in the ten years they'd been married, then dumped him!” whispered Sally.
Stuart boggled, “I missed THAT?”
“Nah, I made it up. She should, though, I reckon it's true!” whispered Sally, then ducked down to avoid the enraged glare of the wounded boss.
The day passed, with miscellaneous mishaps causing regular bellows of fury from the direction of the boss's office. The employees kept a low profile, attempting to reign in their sniggers and keep their whispers from reaching the (bright red) ears of the boss.
Just before 4:30, the fire alarm went off. As the employees dutifully traipsed toward the fire stairs to complete the drill, they were met with firemen – armed with fire extinguishers – heading into their office. What the heck was going on? Not a drill after all?
They met and waited downstairs for more than the usual ten minutes. Just as people started to look impatiently at their watches and mutter about going home and overtime, the firemen re-emerged. Between two large, burly firemen was dragged a small, weedy man covered in foam, with curls of smoke still rising from his head.
He was delivered to a waiting ambulance. Frank, edging as close as he could get unobtrusively, returned wide-eyed with the news.
“They reckon he set himself alight... just his hair! Some weird psychosis! I'd say they're taking him to the mental health hospital down the road.”
Stuart grinned, “He's not going to be back in a hurry – halle-bloody-lujah!” he crowed. “That man's been driving me batty since I started here... thank God he's gotten some of his own back, the great psycho!”
Sally collected her belongings and headed home, deep in thought. The 'fairy' had certainly delivered. Coincidence?
Sally entered the office with a hint of trepidation. Everything looked perfectly normal. She peered into her boss's office on the way to her cubicle – empty as normal (he typically got in late and left early – regular hours and overtime were for the plebs). Nothing was out of place. Probably, she thought with rising hopefulness, the cleaner had forgotten his bizarre promise 5 seconds after he'd wandered away.
Wednesday was meeting day. You'd expect a break from dull routine to be welcomed, but somehow work meetings managed to be duller and feel more routine than even the work managed to be. Maybe it was because lots of people, all radiating dullness and hopelessness, were stuck in a small space together instead of dispersing their misery over the office.
The boss walked in late (standard) with a scowl on his face (mostly standard – the only time he smiled in a meeting was when someone was about to be publicly humiliated or fired). He sat down, farted loudly (not standard) and blushed (extremely non-standard). He picked up a pen, which exploded. Not a minute into the meeting, and he looked ready to cry or explode himself. Sally wiped a drop of ink from her cheek and boggled, while trying to pretend she was noticing nothing. All around her, she heard the sound of desperately-muffled chuckles giving way to fits of fake coughing.
Brownies?
The manager thumped the desk, and said, “Right, let's start this meeting! Stuart – what's the status of -”
He coughed. He spluttered. He hacked... and out of his mouth came something looking suspiciously like a furball to Sally's practiced (cat-owning) eye.
Stuart – a bit weak-stomached at the best of times – gagged and ran out of the room. Everyone else kept to their seats, too shocked to do anything useful.
Sally smirked internally (never externally – that would be career suicide in this place). Whatever was happening, she was determined to enjoy every minute. The boss slumped, head in hands, silent.
After a number of very quiet, very boring minutes in which everyone glanced covertly around the room while trying to avoid eye-contact with anyone, the boss thumped the desk again. “Meeting adjourned!” he choked out, then strode out of the room, head held high and arms clasped over his abdomen.
Sally returned to her boring cubicle and looked at her work, thinking hard. Brownies? Mischievous ones? Coincidence? Or had the cleaner poisoned her boss's coffee cup or something? Crud, how would she explain herself to a murder investigation? “Well, Your Honour, the cleaner said he was a fairy and would grant me a wish...” She gave in and banged her head on her desk for relief.
“Sleeping again, eh? That performance review is getting worse and worse, girlie!” boomed a familiar, nasally voice. Well, he wasn't THAT sick, she mused angrily. The boss moved on to his next victim – at least, started to, before tripping over nothing and hitting his head on the ceramic ornamental fern pot. Sally choked back the giggle as he bounced to his feet and looked around wildly for whatever had tripped him. Looking just a little red, he gathered his dignity and strode off into the bookshelf. Someone broke, and a coworker was wracked with laughter. The boss, bright red now and with two lumps competing for dominance on his forhead, swore inventively and fired the nearest employee.
“Someone didn't have his morning coffee,” whispered Stuart from the other side of her cubicle. “Cripes... have you ever seen him so mad?”
“Only that time when his wife walked in, told the entire office that she hadn't had a decent shag in the ten years they'd been married, then dumped him!” whispered Sally.
Stuart boggled, “I missed THAT?”
“Nah, I made it up. She should, though, I reckon it's true!” whispered Sally, then ducked down to avoid the enraged glare of the wounded boss.
The day passed, with miscellaneous mishaps causing regular bellows of fury from the direction of the boss's office. The employees kept a low profile, attempting to reign in their sniggers and keep their whispers from reaching the (bright red) ears of the boss.
Just before 4:30, the fire alarm went off. As the employees dutifully traipsed toward the fire stairs to complete the drill, they were met with firemen – armed with fire extinguishers – heading into their office. What the heck was going on? Not a drill after all?
They met and waited downstairs for more than the usual ten minutes. Just as people started to look impatiently at their watches and mutter about going home and overtime, the firemen re-emerged. Between two large, burly firemen was dragged a small, weedy man covered in foam, with curls of smoke still rising from his head.
He was delivered to a waiting ambulance. Frank, edging as close as he could get unobtrusively, returned wide-eyed with the news.
“They reckon he set himself alight... just his hair! Some weird psychosis! I'd say they're taking him to the mental health hospital down the road.”
Stuart grinned, “He's not going to be back in a hurry – halle-bloody-lujah!” he crowed. “That man's been driving me batty since I started here... thank God he's gotten some of his own back, the great psycho!”
Sally collected her belongings and headed home, deep in thought. The 'fairy' had certainly delivered. Coincidence?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
