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I don't want to write about my day; so I'll teach you a poem instead. It is by Christopher-Robin.

Binker

Binker- what I call him- is a secret of my own,

and Binker is the reason that I never feel alone.

Playing in the nursery, sitting on the stair,

Whatever I am busy at, Binker will be there.

Oh, Daddy is clever, he's a clever sort of man,

And Mummy is the best since the world began,

And Nanny is Nanny, and I call her Nan-

But they can't

see

Binker.

Binker's always talking, 'cos I'm teaching him to speak:

 He sometimes likes to do it in a funny sort of squeak,

He sometimes likes to do in a hoodling sort of roar...

And I have to do it for him 'cos his throat is rather sore.

Oh, Daddy is clever, he's a clever sort of man,

And Mummy knows all that anybody can,

And Nanny is Nanny, and I call her Nan-

But they don't

know

Binker

Binker's brave as lions when we're running in the park;

Binker's brave as tigers when we're lying in the dark;

Binker's brave as elephants. He never, never cries...

Except (like other people) when soap gets in his eyes.

Oh, Daddy is Daddy, he's a Daddy sort of man,

 And Mummy is as Mummy as anybody can,

And Nanny is Nanny, and I call her Nan...

But they're not

like

Binker

Binker isn't greedy, but he does like things to eat,

So I have to say to other people when they're giving me a sweet,

"oh, Binker wants a chocolate, so could you give me two?"

And then I eat it for him, 'cos his teeth are rather new.

Well, I'm very fond of Daddy, but he hasn't time to play,

And I'm very fond of Mummy, but sometimes she goes away,

And I'm often cross with Nanny when she wants to brush my hair...

But Binker's always Binker, and is certain to be there.