Puddles

I once shamed myself by referring to Ngugi's novel Petals of Blood as Puddles of Blood.  The word "puddles" still carries a taint.

BUT my reason for writing this morning is to inform you that Hardie the dog is blameless in this week's urine-fest, phase one of which involved Winton (who is only diaperless between the bath and his bedroom every night) peeing on the floor beside my bed and incanting with increasing alarm "Mummy?  Uh-oh.  Uh-oh.  Uh-OH.  Mummeeee?  Uh-Oh."  Phase two was Clara wetting her own bed copiously in the wee (haha) hours of the morning, thus demonstrating that foam mattresses function exactly like kitchen sponges when wet.