Apart from Ben got sick with some sort of evil flu-ey thing that failed to infect me (I begin to suspect I am immortal as Ben has as yet caught everything going and I remain untouched TOUCHWOODTOUCHWOODTOUCHWOOD) last week and we had to call a doctor out. He was part man part tortoise, and I wanted to keep him and feed him lettuce. But Ben wouldn't let me - he never lets me do ANYTHING I want to do.
He's better now, by the way, in case you were worried. He still has a cough but I think its for attention more than anything.
We had a jolly nice Valentine's Day; my sister sent me some knickers in the post (pants post is ossum post) and Ben made sushi for me. It was awesome, but there was a lot of it. A lot. I had sushi every day for lunch until Monday, after wh
ich I just couldn't stomach any more raw tuna. There comes a time where raw tuna stops being novel and starts being suspiciously squishy and I discovered that time just before the tuna discovered the binbag (sac poubelle).On the subject of sac poubelle I got a brilliant letter and gift from my friend Rach. She sent me a Boost; it got battered but it survived - until I ate it, obviously. Curiously the letter was already opened, possibly by our nosy postman. If I had been him I woulda stolen the Boost as they are a most wonderful confectionary but he clearly didn't know what it was and put it back. They just don't have decent chocolate bars here. Belgium, land of chocolate - pish. Rach also sent a great letter where she recommended a phrase to use next time Mrs Busybody tried to push a bin bag onto me: 'Tu sais où tu peux te le mettre!' which means something rude. I memorised it just in case, but I don't think I'll ever have the guts to say it. Maybe when we move out, though she probably won't be proferring bin bags and the sentiment will be lost.
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