So. The CFO is folding kites while I try and scrape chocolate off the white sofas and turn all the cushions over to hide the Nutella stains. The second wave feminist caucus are back on the shelves without their jaunty hats. Fearful rabbit, giant heron and decorated egg can finally breathe again. Soon the lady from the agency will come round and count teaspoons under our apprehensive gaze. The Control Lemon has been cut in half and used for scrambled eggs.
It's the end of the holiday.
Impressively we have not eaten each other's brains or feasted on spinal fluid (thanks, M). We are SO grown up. Holiday high five!
I will leave you with this image of the neighbours' sandcastle. It features Stonehenge, the Leaning Tower of Pisa, the Sphinx, the Great Wall of China, l'Arc de Triomphe and uh, some other stuff. As you will readily imagine, no child had a hand in the making of it, even though there are at least six to choose from in their house. It was the work of a single, obsessive father.
I have no idea whether I will be able to post again before Wednesday. Think of me, grinding my teeth miserably whilst fending off spiders the size of ponies and failing to admire vegetables with sufficient enthusiasm.