We spent the weekend surrounded by children: an 18-month-old on Saturday evening/Sunday morning and then a 36-month-old and a six-year-old on Sunday evening. This was more by accident than design; we are categorically NOT gluttons for such punishment, but events conspired. There was much wailing and gnashing of teeth, but once I'd dealt with PJ (ho ho!), the real fun began. I had no idea that there could be so many small child/floor interfaces in such a short space of time. The presence of the cats in the house has meant that we no longer have valuable possessions or furniture that we worry about, but I was slightly nervous as the 18-month-old explored the wonderful banging potential of the telephone against the glass-topped unit. And I know that my ginger biscuits were slightly dry, but I can't believe a Michelin inspector would have rubbed them into the conservatory chairs. Children are harsh critics.
By the end of the weekend, PJ was shell-shocked and retreated to watch some fun zombie action (the remake of Dawn of the Dead). I made like the Victorian maiden that I so closely represent and took to my bed (read: sofa) with my laudanum (a strong cup of tea) and a good book (of sudoku puzzles). As for the cats? I think they are traumatised. They spent most of the weekend either cowering on top of the china cabinet, hiding in the cupboard under the sink, or skulking under the bath. It's good to see that they share our fear of the wee ones.
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