Autumn has crept up on us like the mysterious jelly in the bottom of the toothbrush holder. The kids are busy with growing up, as are we with intermittent attempts to scrabble back some shreds of human decency. Any adult not stumbling about in a shell-shocked state, with a curious absence of snot epaulettes, is suspect of mechanisation. There are robots among us - surely it is the only way they stay so clean and un-creased.
Yesterday, on all fours in the dining room, inspecting the gaps in the floorboards which have been usefully caulked by Liza’s food mess, she staggers past with a surprised expression. “Watch me daddy, I’m falling and catching myself with these crazy legs, falling and catching myself, falling and catching...” In the end it’s more like falling than catching but you blink and you miss it and it makes you want to cry along with her, for your own unintelligible reasons.
It’s a good thing too. Poz is out of favour for being an aggressive and unrepentant little twat - it’s so much worse when they remind you of you. All we can think, as we hit wit’s end and shout at him (yep, showing him how it’s done) is that this will pass and harmony will return. Love conquers all, right? Love conquers all.
