A lobster-pot daughter and dodgy art work cleaning (Rousse)

Even though he obviously was not her father, TPR was the primary carer for our tiny new African baby. She was so beautiful that even I found it hard to believe that she was my very own daughter.

We were extremely low-key parents. Rather than pay for a crib, we made a nest on the floor for our newborn. Here she slept under a section of lobster-pot.

When she was a little older, and began to show a resemblance to her cousin AMF, we let her play in the garden. We decided to fill in the pond as a safety precaution.

Meanwhile life carried on as usual with conference calls about my mother’s precarious financial situation, and arguments with K and T over the paintings at my mother’s house. I was particularly concerned when they took it upon themselves to clean the pictures with window cleaners’ mops.

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