who me?

Baby crabb and I are staying at hotel gran and grandad. Monday is cleaning day; always has been and most probably always will be.
Mums third arm is her hoover, I’m not saying she’s obsessed with Henry, I’m just mentioning the fact that she is rather fond of him and likes to give him a little run around the house every day!  My father likes things ‘just so’.  His third arm is his leaf blowing machine,  his fourth arm is his industrial steam cleaner, his fifth arm is his window cleaning box of tricks … need I go on? For those of you who know my parents I’m sure you’re wearing a knowing smile, for those of you who don’t know my parents I hope you get the picture.  We like to clean!! Today my father helped my mother with the Monday cleaning ritual; the housekeeper relocated just before Christmas.  Now before you picture my father with a feather duster in his hand, scroll back to remind yourself of his fifth arm: a window cleaning box of tricks.  But this box of tricks doesn’t limit its abilities to just cleaning widows,  oh no,  it proudly boasts ‘mirrors’ on its cleaning CV.  My father spent a happy, well I’m not entirely sure of the exact amount of time, but lets conclude it was above an average amount of time, cleaning, rinsing and buffing the bathroom mirrors that surround their bath.  Lovely.  Mirror perfection.

Fast forward five or so hours to Baby Crabbs nighttime routine.   Dinner, followed by a little playtime,  followed by a splash in the bath, followed by a … WAIT! I hear you cry.  “A SPLASH in the bath” not the bath surrounded by the perfectly polished mirrors?  Yes, in a word, and this little crabb doesn’t do things by halves.   When he splashes in the bath, he really splashes in the bath, like his last mouthful of yummy homemade chicken casserole depends on it.



Gone were the perfctly polished mirrors, a distant memory in the bathrooms history.  And what did Baby Crabb have to say for himself?  Well nothing, he can’t actually speak just yet.  But he can look; he can look with his big blue eyes and speak volumes.


“Who me?”

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