On Monday I recieved an odd shaped parcel in the mail. M looked perplexed, but I felt a genetic twinge and realised that I knew what it contained. Two sponges. Not just any sponges. High class sponges. Sponges that, if they had names, would be called Barbara and Felicity. Harrumph. When my Dad came to stay a few weeks back, he whined like a baby about how useless our sponges were – and sadly, he was fairly close to the mark. We get them in bulk from Bunnings and they scour a hundred times better than they absorb – i.e. they don’t. He threatened that he was going to send us some ‘proper’ sponges in the post when he returned to civilisation…and lo….! Now we have two, high priced, fancy sponges (this is from the man who thinks that spending anything more than $10 on a bottle of wine is dire treachery) and I am waiting for them to prove their worth.