A Russian man who irons

Hubski has many faults and quirks, none of which I am going to blog about as one of my inner blogging rules is - never write anything about family that you can't say to their face. Come to think of it, this isn't relevant to hubski as a) I tell him about his faults to his face all the time and it's a great deal more fun than blogging about them and b) Although he is the only other person in the world in my off-line life that is aware of this blog, he cares little about it beyond complaining 'Blogging again? When are you going to get paid?' (actually, that means he cares great deal).

But faults and quirks aside, the fact remains that:

I am in possession of a Russian man who irons.

At 7am in the morning, before he goes out to work and before I get out of bed.

In the words of Ali G, you can flip me over and bone me.