Ole, Ole, Ole!

At approximately 8 o' clock last night (that's Wednesday) Olivia arrived home from hospital. At first she was tearful and we realised that something was upsetting her. A fouled nappy? Hunger pangs? Neither; she could clearly sense that United were playing and in our haste to make her comfortable we had neglected to turn the telly on. Within five minutes of us rectifying this situation her near name sake Ole Solksjaer had slotted one home and the sound of crying hasn't been heard since. Though there was some fretting a couple of hours later, but that was me fearing United were about to be dumped out of the cup.

Now that we're home i can't spend all hours tapping away at the keyboard so the saga of my scrap with the car-seat - car-seat won on points but i'm hopeful in the rematch- and our first night of non-sleep, which actually turned out to involve more sleep than expected, will have to wait for another time.