blue period

Or, Finding Your Inner Artist (aka "I Just Gotta Be Meee!")

Turns out we've got quite the creative type on our hands here.

This weekend I unknowingly became a patron of the arts when I noticed that the sound of Po crunch-crunching on a marrow bone gave way to a suspicious silence, more snuffling about, then a great big plastic "crack, squish!"...hmmm.

...to which I then saw this:

Oh boy.

Lesson learned: Don't ever assume that boxes containing, say, concentrated gel paste food colouring, are safe from wily teenagers bent on expressing themselves! Even if said blue paste is left in a box, on a shelf, and contained in an otherwise pretty tightly sealed little tub. (He's a regular David Blaine, he is.)

Expressing the inner Frenchie - sacre bleu!

The good news was, that a few good giggles and a great big scrubbie bath later (including his silly blue tongue - imagine that, a Frenchie Chow!), all was back to normal.

That is if you don't count the "performance piece" left behind the next morning...