It's about time!

The Extended Malinki family

Frederick loves the Slinky Malinki stories, constantly reading (and rereading and REreading) them, over and over again, even acting them out with little cat and dog figurines we have. We did not realise, though, that he has decided to expand the already extensive Hairy Maclary/Slinky Malinki collection with these titles:

Sinky Malainky is the a humerous tale of Slinky's over-weight plumber uncle-cat who unplugs drains by day and steals sausages and biscuits at night.

Pinky Malinky, Slinky's younger sister, will have only the very best and in this story joins up with an all-girl cat gang to plan an inside heist that will set them up for life. But do a bunch of kittens have what it takes?

Slonky Malonky, Slinky's scraggly cousin, rolls into town for a few days, and those few days turn into weeks, and then a few months. He eats all the food, borrows all your money and leaves all your towels in a sodden mass on the bathroom floor. The question everyone is asking is: When will this cat go home?

Thinky Malainky, Slinky's reclusive professorial grandfather, tells the story of how this old cat earned his Phd--by reading a lot of books, and studying a lot! It's a long, slow read, just like getting a terminal degree!

Slanky Malanky, the bitter-sweet story of Slinky's barmaid aunt who was abandoned as a kitten and forced to grow up on the mean streets. This is the story of tragedy, loss, forgiveness and redemption--a must read for anyone who has lost a kitten and found a friend.

Oinky Malanki, Slinki's adopted pig brother, is the story of how one big pig can make one REALLY big mess in just one short afternoon!

Nice weather for...

Apparently 12 is not too old for egg hunts

Long time reader(s) might recall that last year there was limited enthusiasm from our older offspring for egg hunts, so this year the Easter Bunny was planning not to bother. Unfortunately, said offspring got wind of this earlier in the week and vociferously made clear that he was not in fact too old for such things. And here is photographic evidence (once he finally bothered to get up, shockingly early for a Sunday, at about 11):

Egg hunt in progress

Darragh does Detroit

As you might have gathered, for the past week we've had a 17-year-old Irish fiddler staying with us called Darragh. Last year the Flint Youth Symphony stayed in Ireland and met up with this group of fiddlers there ("there" being Great Island, which is apparently just off the coast near Cork) and arrangements were made for them to come to Flint. (Poor bastards, they raised the money without checking out what Flint was like.) Most of the week they were kept trapped, either in the Flint Institute of Music practicing with the Youth Symphony or on short road trips to local High Schools where, Darragh related incredulously, they asked questions like "Are Leprechauns real?" But Friday was their day off, and their fondest desire was to go SHOPPING, because, as Darragh relates, in the current economic climate everything (with the noted exception of flights on Ryan Air) is ridiculously expensive in Ireland now. (Every time he saw the cost of anything, from pancakes at a diner to jogging leggings [the purchase he was most excited about] he would report the price in Ireland and Jami or I would be suitably gobsmacked.) So he asked to be taken to a mall in a place called Auburn Hills, which is on the way to Detroit, whose legend circulated among the Irish in hushed whispers. So, obliging sort that I am, I took him. Here he is posed outside of a store bearing the name of one of the brands that teenagers appear to venerate with the first of his purchases:

I was planning to make a series of these, but (a) he was embarrassed, and (b) after I took the one below, a mall cop whirred up on his Segway (a sight Darragh found appropriately ridiculous) and told me that I was not allowed to take photos of the stores. When I rather confusedly asked why, he told me that it was partly because they were worried about competitors, but "mostly because of 9/11". Curses, they saw through my plan to fly a jumbo jet into their temple of Capitalism.

His appetite for designer brands at rock bottom prices sated, Darragh was keen to see Detroit. I understand that most of the kids really wanted to to see "the ghetto". Well, I hope beautiful abandoned buildings sufficed instead. The following photos were taken by Darragh:

And just to show that it's not all squalor:

The name of the baseball team is the Tigers - could you guess?

This morning we put Darragh on the bus that would take him to Chicago airport (don't ask me why they didn't fly into Detroit) and both sides were quite moist-eyed. He was very pleasant company for a week, which makes him an unusual 17-year-old indeed. Plus he brought over TONS of Cadbury's, McVities and Barry's Tea (as served by Mrs. Doyle, he assured us). AND he has promised to send Thomas his complete collection of early Pokemon cards. If he doesn't, Thomas will track him down and extract them by force...

The Great Island Fiddlers in action

Darragh is visible just behind and to the right of the blonde one.

Cold!

Well, just to prove the point of the previous post, it's Winter again, as can be seen by the snow (yes, SNOW) on the car in the bottom right hand corner of the picture below. The main star of the picture is Darragh, an Irish Fiddler currently staying with us while visiting the Flint Institute of Music from Craggy Island. He didn't bring a coat, and claims never to have seen snow before ("it doesn't snow in Ireland!") so that's why he's wearing mine. More on his visit in a later post...