poo

I run a mums and tots group one afternoon a week. Well, I say run (and of course that's what I'll say on my CV if I ever get round to looking for paid employment again, which seems increasingly unlikely: if anyone knows of any interesting, well-paid, part-time, fully-flexible jobs that only last for 18 months at a time, or until whenever the next posting comes around, then do let me know), but I actually mean unlocking the door and opening a packet of custard creams.

It only lasts about an hour or so, but seems like an eternity of tantrums, minor head injuries and spilt coffee.

Son turns up after school with a couple of his friends and adds to the mix by waving his scarf in people's faces and climbing on the roof of the wendy house.

This week he announced he needed a poo and would I come with him please. I said I'd wait by the door. One of the centre's admin staff unfortunately (for her) needed the loo at the same time. Son is a remarkably affable chap, and won't pass up the opportunity for a bit of friendly chat. So the poor woman was subjected to a running commentary, which started with: "Sorry if it's a bit whiffy, but I am having a poo." - he is nothing if not polite - and after several long minutes ended with "Good bye. I'm going to stay here a bit longer because there is quite thick poo on this toilet paper so I think I need to do a few more wipes."

I think it's a good thing that he has no inhibitions about striking up conversations with strange women. He might need a bit of advice from his dad when it comes to chat up lines, though.