"Andrew is crazy. Dad is great. The best dad ever. I'm so lucky to have a dad like him. . . . . Now let me type" . . . . if Lexie really wants to have his say on this blog, he'll need to learn to type.
Ice cream lolly, la la.
Better when I take over. He's been out all day and is as overexcited as a chav in the Red Light district.
Fruit lolly. Paint heart. Lungs. Printer with a mattress. Ba ba goo goo.
Told you so. He speaks fluent gibber. Worse in person. Honest.
Breaking news, chocolate lolly he, he he he he he he, he he he
Mornings, he's coherent.
"Lexie: give me a sentence with beer in it. At least five words."
"Ice cream lolly is; that's it."
Magic. I got a free word out of him. One nil to Dad. (If you count something with an apostrophe in it as just one word.) Beer wasn't in his sentence. But that doesn't matter now. Does it?
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