a mean game of croquet
While we were in Brussels for the wedding, someone brought out a croquet set during the reception and it turned out none of the Brits knew how to play. So I gave everyone a croquet lesson, but since there was no one to check up on me, I taught them how to play McIntyre Rules, which I suspect is much more vicious than your average croquet. I’d left this baby I was minding for the photographer in a pram on the edge of the lawn, but after my second round, Thingy started squalling. So I picked up Thingy and it stopped, and then I cracked myself up by playing another killer round with it stuck under one arm like a sack of flour. (I didn’t win that round, though.)
Apologies to Thingy’s parents if you’re reading this, it really is a lovely baby.
And I hear from David Lloyd that Jonathan Cape and the Observer are running their Graphic Short Story Prize competition again. I didn’t apply last time because the brief was really confusing, but perhaps they’ve made it more clear this time. Deadline is 17 October.