Hurrah, my traffic has gone through the roof, Beth has mentioned me on her blog. Otherwise today has not been a fantastic day. No work. Good. Decided to go to Planckendael. Bad. When we left Brussels, it was nice and sunny. I was wearing my trail about in the mud flares that I got in a mutton dressed as lamb moment. This is important. It was raining in Planckendael. It was muddy. Unlike teenagers who don’t mind being wet to the knees in their trendy trousers, I like to be dry. So I rolled my trendy jeans up to the knee exposing a lot of hairy leg (look, I am still getting over the rash, shaving is not good – if you care, you will be glad to know that, at least, my legs no longer
look leprous). This is not really the look I was going for.
Meanwhile my daughter splashed in numerous puddles and had a fab time getting wet to the knee. The animals were all, very sensibly, indoors and invisible. Mr. Waffle pointed out that for 30 euros less and considerably more conveniently, we could have had the same experience in the park round the corner from our flat. Without wishing to sound at all partisan, I would like to go on record as saying Planckendael is not half as good as Fota.
We arrived home sodden and muddy. Put the Princess to bed for a nap and collapsed on the sofa. Mr. Waffle’s brother and his wife are coming to stay this evening. I hope that they’re prepared for a quiet time with lots of lovely babysitting…
