Flea dug a book out of the charity box that has been sitting on the landing since 2009 last night, and decided she wanted to read it as a bedtime story.
It turned out to be one of those "Stories about Me" that my best friend at school gave me for Christmas, back in 1989 – so more than 21 years ago. A lifetime ago. And yet – somehow – parts of that book still speak to me.
Can't imagine why.
My bathroom looks almost *exactly* like that illustration.