I hate dolls. It's a well know, and documented fact. They scare the living shit out of me. Why, oh bloody, why do I insist on being friends with Cakers?
DOLLS????????? Even worse . . . Dolls with BUTTON EYES!!!!
I was meant to be telling you of poor no. 1's dilemma, watch footie with his dad (Real Madrid v. Man City) or The Great British Bake Off with me. He watched the Bake Off and then the second half of the game.
Funnily enough, we actually watch the baking show like it was a sport. Yelling at the TV about how 'JESUS??? THREE BAKING AGENTS??????????, is he feckin' mad or wha'?' etc. We got a bit pissed off tonight that no one was sent home due to John cutting his finger. Actually, I too have cut my finger on the blade of a magimix. I can still 'hear' the cut, if you know what I mean.
Instead of telling you all that though I am filled with the image of a doll freak with button eyes. I don't care if she's made beautifully and out of sugar. She's a weird doll freak and now I am scared and have to go to bed. Taking no. 3 with me. He's the easiest one to chuck over my shoulder and drag to bed. Himself is banished to the spare room y'see. A mixture of chest infection (snoring) and a vomiting bug.
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