When I was growing up, I didn't really have colouring books and markers and stuff. Actually I don't recall most of my childhood, but that's another post! Anyway, it's only as an adult that I have discovered the joy of colouring. Yes, I'm talking colouring in a colouring book picture with markers or crayons or coloured pencils. I must have discovered it earlier because my brilliant sister bought me this massive, amazing box of Prismacolours - coloured pencils you can use with water for a watercolour effect. I've always liked art in general, but colouring is just good old plain therapy! (Without the angst, dollars-per-hour, or stigma attached.) In recent weeks I've been doing tons of colouring with the hungry three and re-discovering how good the crayons smell, how nice 'cool' coloured markers are, and how damn satisfying it is to finish a picture in a colouring book. Recently I got very upset about something, and my brilliant friend 007 came over to comfort me. She and I sat down, got out the colouring books, and spent well over an hour colouring in and chatting. When we finally tore ourselves away from the fish, zebras, and other assorted colouring-in pages, I realised I felt far more relaxed and cheered up than I had when we started. I might be forced to start some sort of group colouring society.