oh come on typepad...

...sort it out. It's raining outside, I'm too knackered from a fabulous night and heavy drinking to do anything today except read the papers, watch tv and check out blogs, and I can't bloody read any, and I'm getting sick of looking at ours.

I just have to say that Mrs Carrot Cake is an excellent cook. Now this shouldn't surprise me as she is a very capable woman, but you really don't expect your childhood friends to be totally grown up. How did we get from playing 'kick the bucket', nipping down the sweetshop for a quarter of pontefract cakes and thinking Cinzano tasted great, to jobs, houses, partners and everything else?

I can't quite pinpoint when it happened to us all (and it certainly has, Mrs Carrot Cake before you start mocking my maturity!) but it wasn't as hard as I thought it was going to be. I thought that we would be completely different people, and we are different, but I look at Mrs Carrot Cake and I can still see aspects of the 7 year old I first became friends with as well as the teenager I shared everything with. She does seem to have lost the university student who tried to make me eat uncooked chicken though, and that's a very good thing.