The spud, blessedly, is sleeping in his back-seat throne and the frog and I have already had one
My phone, I note, is covered in something suspiciously resembling pureed pear. I left it within Spud-reach the other day and he rang his Dad so many times that the frog thought we were stalking him. Forget selling this handset on eBay, it's covered in teeth marks, cracks and suspicious smears. I've been known, in fact, to give him my phone while trying to shove his dinner into his mouth. On one occasion this rendered the thing inoperable for two days until the drool dried. This drives the frog bonkers. He's spent years training me up to this wonderfully tricksy piece of kit and I then chuck it about and feed it to the baby. He, the frog that is, gave me a rather objectionably prophylactic silicone case for the phone that made it look like a grey sex-toy and every time it rang and vibrated at the same time I felt terribly pornographic holding it to my mouth. Anyway, hence the state of the thing - I chucked out the porno-case and haven't bought another.
No room in this thing for more text and so with a riveting post about posting, I leave you to imagine me tomorrow, my bulging midriff in a swimsuit lying in the rain praying for the god of martini to bless me bounteously.