The Dyson is scary, proper hicoughing and yelling scary.
AS people have problems with the idea of a surprise, or maybe it’s just ours. Boy One was very excited to spend his saved up pocket money at the school bring and buy sale last week. He came back with a bulging bag. And yesterday he showed me the contents of his bag saying: “Oh, mum. This is for you and it’s going to be a surprise for you on Christmas day.” What he chose was lovely, but he couldn’t see how I wasn’t going to be surprised. I expect I’ll just pretend.
Eavesdropping is as compelling now as it was thirty something years ago. Boy Two is becoming an expert. On overhearing plans to go for a walk with my supersister, he said: “Can I come?”
“Nope, it’s a school day.”
“But I want to listen to all the private things you and Auntie S will be talking about.”
Here’s a tip Boy: don’t let them know what you’re up to.
And here’s something I learned from my nephew. Baby G recently spent the day at the Sick Kids’ in Edinburgh – minor surgery, better now. But the tales of his ward-mates make me say a quick non-denominational prayer of thanks for beautiful healthy children, however irritating. Thanks Baby G.