F F F

This is the busiest week since God woke up one Monday morning and decided to turn the light on.

And this day is perhaps the busiest of the week. I shan't list the tasks that clamour for completion, save to say that every coming moment feels booked. Mrs Cogs has organised a large event - a 'Founding Families Feast' (the brain generates some less benign versions of the FFF acronym as the day wears on) - the first of three big events in seven days.

Best laid plans, etc., etc.

A series of calls from school at 1pm - BoyCogs has injured his ankle in P.E. and needs to go to A&E.
How has he become injured? Fighting? Playing rugby? Ice hockey? Pamplona Bull Run?

No. He's damaged his ankle playing rounders.
Rounders. A sport that's slightly less dagerous than paddling.

So, off to hospital. After a couple of hours the boy is abandoned to the care of Mrs Cogs' friend, Maureen, who lives locally. BoyCogs gets to practise for his Irish oral test while awaiting X-ray, and I get to rush back to the F'ing FFF.

8pm and the image above shows BoyCogs' return.
Fractured ankle does not diminish his appetite