ONE So I decide to take my girls camping. Just the three of us, around a campfire, snuggling up in the wilderness. I won’t even plan where we go. We’ll just get in a car and drive until we find somewhere we want to camp and then look for a campsite. Together we will face hardship and peril and the beauty of nature. And we might learn something about each other. In a spirit of spontaneity, I do a google search and pinpoint a campsite near Abingdon which is roughly 5 miles away and therefore just the right side of irresponsible. The campsite seems pretty wild so I spontaneously book it. The lady on the end of the phone points out that we will be the only people there. “There’s the lockkeeper” she says. “But I can’t guarantee he’ll be in.” I phone my brother Ed to ask him if it would be fine to take a 3 year old and a 9 month old to camp in a place with only a lock keeper who may not be in. Is this too much wilderness? He thinks not. “Take a whistle,” he says. I have images of clutching my babies to me whilst whistling at a heavily breathing hedgehog at 3 in the morning. I phone Orla and ask her if it would be fine, after I’ve established that she can’t spontaneously join me herself because she has 3 children all going to separate parties. She says she thinks it possibly isn’t but suggests I come and camp in her back garden instead. I am sorely tempted. But it doesn’t seem quite perilous enough. It probably would be too fun to learn something about each other. Lara wants to help pack. I tell her we need to make a list. She sits down with a red pen and paper. “What do we need, mummy?” This question terrifies me. I tell her matts. “How do you spell mats?” I breathe a sigh of relief. Familiar territory. “You tell me.” “M.” “Very good.” “What comes next?” “Listen to the sound. “A”. “A”. What do you think that is?” “B?” “No darling. m-A-t.” “E for Elephant?” “M. A. T. T. S. Can you write that?” “How do you do a A?” “A tent with a line across the middle. Then a T, and – let’s skip the second T, I’m not even sure it should be there- then a snakey S.” She shows me triumphant. “Honey, you have to put the letters in the right order otherwise no one can read it. What do we need next? How about Tent?” “How do you spell Tent?” “Can you do the rest of the list without me? Now that Scout’s waking up?” “No, mummy, I NEED YOU HERE!!! You have ASSET me now!!” I call the campsite and cancel the booking. I go to pick Scout up and start the packing. If I put the mats in the car, the rest should follow seamlessly. I’ll need to put Scout down though. But Scout doesn’t see it this way. She thinks I need to hold her indefinitely. At least until she’s learnt to walk. I check the weather. We have had a heatwave for 3 weeks. Tomorrow, there is 90% chance of rain. I check a different site which concurs. There is no weather site that doesn’t think it’s going to rain tomorrow, unless I put in Andalucia. I take the mats to the car one handed and return for the tent. Which is in the attic. To put Scout down on the floor you have to break her in half. Her thigh muscles are so toned that she can maintain total rigidity in the face of immense amounts of pressure. Her ultimate goal is to get into a position where she can breastfeed but if she can’t achieve this she will at the very least goosestep around the room holding tightly to you. Occasionally if you slide her bum along the floor sideways while exclaiming in astonishment at a toy, you will succeed in sitting her down. She will yell with fury but you’ll know you’ve won. I got the tent down from the attic and remembered the bed rolls. Total legend. We’re nearly there. Lara is yelling. “Mummy! My tummy is hungry!! I feel a bit sick!! I think I might need some medicine!! And I’ve done a poo!!” I ignore her and continue the packing. If I move around the house and pick up anything I see that looks camping friendly and put it on the blanket box in the front room then the packing will effectively do itself and I might manage to tidy the house simultaneously. Scout and Lara are pulling the standing lamp down. Lara says that Scout did it and she was trying to protect her. Scout yells. One day she will be able to put her side of the story. In the meantime she’s just going to pull the flex out of the lamp. “Don’t let you sister play with electricity. Plates. Cups. What are we going to eat, Lara?” “Biscuits.” Pasta is the easiest thing in the world to eat, with pesto. No, not pesto because green is Lara’s most recent off-limit food colour. Pasta sauce. We’re camping, we don’t need frills. Loads of those Ella things that you can plug straight into your baby without using a spoon. Loads of them. Cereal? No because we don’t have milk and we don’t have milk because we don’t have a fridge. Elementary. Which reminds me that we don’t have a stove either. “Lara, we’re going to buy everything. Cooker, cutlery, coolbox, torch.. oh my god, torch… No, don’t make a list, we haven’t got time.” Check the website. It says: “don’t forget your washing up bowl”. Washing up bowl - nailed. At this point I remember we no longer have a campsite booked and recent experience has taught me that not all campsites are suitable for our requirements. I feel overwhelmed by choice. The whole of the UK beckons. I decide to concentrate on adult people who can be persuaded to do absolutely anything at a minute’s notice. The main one is my cousin, Guy. He is only an hour away, doing a job in Stratford so I promptly book a campsite near Stratford. They let me off the second car cost which is how I know that it’s the perfect place for us, despite costing as much as a midrange hotel for the night. And apparently there are other people on the campsite. Having explained to Guy where he will be spending the night I turn my attention back to camping. The mats are in the middle of the road. No point even attempting to get those in until I’ve got the pram in. Which will need to go in last because I will have to escort Scout in it first. So I pile everything else up in the road. Lara dresses herself. She layers up fashionably with her favorite rabbit dress, an oversized underskirt and a pair of odd socks. I nod approval. Karen arrives to clean the house which by now is quite tricky to find. Instead I ask her to watch the children for me. She puts them in front of her ipad and plaits Lara’s hair. The children sit still for quite a long time leading me to wonder whether I should take some form of electronic entertainment with me but I discard this thought as using up space where other thoughts need to be. Such as how to keep my children alive for 24 hours in the wilderness. I am hands free. I pack the car with astonishing ease and dexterity. The pram goes in first and then I remember that the pram needs to come out first too so I repack with the pram on the bottom, where it can’t knock my children’s heads off in an emergency stop situation, but build a highly intricate self supporting wall of objects around it which means I can deftly extract the pram without having to disturb those objects. It works 50% of the time. I pack the duvet. There is no window which can be seen out of. Actually that is not true. One of the wing mirrors is within view. I pay Karen some of the money I owe her. Then it’s finally time to go and begin our adventure. “To the camping shop!” I announce proudly. “Followed by Sainsburies!” We pile into the car and only then do I realize I’ve forgotten to get Scout dressed. She is naked apart from her nappy. I consider getting out of the car but time is marching on and it’s not raining yet. TWO So here we are in the camping shop with everything minus the tent to buy for our camping trip. Our eyes alight instantly on a cooking stove for the phenomenal price of £7.99. Next to it are a packet of gas canisters to go in it which don’t have a price on. I see a sleeping bag which is clearly a better solution to the one I have now. I feel cheerful when I think that I will also buy a box and put everything in it and next time we go camping we can just go. Like that. With this lovely thought buoying me I decide to buy an entire cutlery, plate, bowl and cup set for 2 people despite having already packed these things. Lara chooses the colours 4 times. Scout yells. Cool box, torch – one that works and one that Lara likes, picnic rug – another one, for the camping box so we never have to remember to pack a picnic rug when we’re going camping. I consider that a sleeping bag is no good as a sheet substitute unless it opens out. A youth brings down some opening-out sleeping bags and unpacks them for me to look at them. Then he leaves me to pack them back in again. Deck chairs. We get the nice blue and green ones that are aesthetically pleasing but hurt your bum and discourage sitting. We attempt to get all this to the cash desk. Scout wants to leave the pram. Lara says “I’m hungry.” That’s because she’s just seen some chocolate. I throw caution to the wind and buy her a 30p chomp bar as future payment for helping me put up the tent. She holds it in her hand, cherishing it. It is already an hour after we said we’d arrive at the campsite which is an hour away. But I can see I will get nothing more out of my children until I feed them. And I jauntily told Guy I would provide all the food. “Yay!” says Lara. Sainsburies is in her top ten. Scout is of course asleep by the time we get there. I remove her gingerly in her car seat and ram it into the pram. She cries desolately. She is not enjoying the camping trip so far. Lara skips to the sainsburies lift. My mind is elsewhere which is why I commit the cardinal lift error. “MUMMY YOU DIDN’T LET ME PRESS THE BUTTON!!” “can you press the floor 1 button.” “But I wanted to press the door OPENY button!!” “but this is a much more important button.” “I WANTED to press the door openy button!!! I’m really really asset now.” She lies on the floor. “Could you do the button on the way back. It works much better that way round.” “Ok, mummy.” She is in too much of a good mood to unleash the full force of her torrential rage. She will save that for later in the day. She sits on the floor, settling in for a good long lift journey and I keep the lift door open while she gets up slowly 2 seconds later. “Mummy, can I have a yoghurt. And pudding.” “The yoghurt is pudding.” “But no, Mummy, noooo. Because I have to eat the yoghurt first because they have to make my first course. So it’s not pudding, is it, Mummy? Is it?” she asks patiently, the master of the rhetorical question. I have to admit she’s right. Lara wants chips. This is acceptable when we’re on holiday and any time she’s not with her dad. Sainsburies cannot do chips with sausages because the meal comes ready made with mash. But they can do chips with chicken nuggets. Lara accepts graciously. While we’re waiting we go to the loo because she likes it there. “There’s a baby changing AND a loo!” she says, pleased. “Wash your hands.” “I can’t because there’s only hot water.” “No, that’s cold.” “No, it’s hot. Look at the red thing.” “No, they just got it wrong. It’s medium, look.” “But it says that it’s RED!!” “I know, darling, just feel it.” “NO MUMMY NO” We get out of the loo just in time before she lies down again. “It’s good there’s no blower isn’t it.” “Very good.” “They know about children don’t they.” “That’s right.” I pick up our tray at the counter and Lara goes for the pram. She can only wheel it in a straight line owing to a combination of limited strength, broken pram wheels and not being able to see over the top of it. A concerned lady leaps up to help. “We’re fine,” I say as Scout smacks into a plate rack. We get to a table. Scout comes out of the pram and indicates that she’d like a boob by thrusting her upper body violently towards it and making effort noises. Once she’s killed it she bobs on and off checking she’s not missing out on any other prey and that no one else steals her boob while she’s not looking. She smacks me in the face adoringly and pinches the boob in the hope it’ll get faster. Eventually I pry her off and give her a green Ella. Because it’s holiday time and not my house I let her feed herself. She feeds all of her body on the outside, most of the table and lots of the floor. I look around smugly as I contemplate the wisdom of not dressing her. “I’m only going to eat some of my yoghurt” says Lara, contentedly. “And I’m going to save the rest til later.” Our food arrives. Lara starts to attack a rock solid nugget with a knife. She chips off a tiny bit of batter. “Mmm, this is delicious.” She says blissfully. “When we get to the holiday house can I have my chocolate.” “It’s not a holiday house baby, it’s a tent you have to build it.” “I love this holiday mummy.” My mash is exactly the same colour as Scout’s skin. I know this because Scout’s foot is in it. I rapidly downsize my food list. There will be no barbecue. No fire. No marshmallows- I don’t know where they live in Sainsburies. There will be a camping box if it kills me because without it this was all for nothing. I balance the basket on the pram and coax Lara around the store. “Go go go!! Go like the wind!! Don’t get lost. Stay with us. Go go go!!” Pasta, pasta sauce –not on the same aisle as the pasta, how could this be?, olive oil, coffee – oh my god, I’ve forgotten my coffee machine!, yoghurts x3, no- x4, no- x2, no- x4. Yoghurts can be everything can’t they? Flat bread, I think Guy likes flat bread. Chocolate, strawberries. Done. Cash desk. Lara says: “Mummy, I need the loo.” “Can you wait til we’ve paid for this.” “No. I need to go now.” “But you’ve just been.” “But I need to go, Mummy.” She has her patient voice on. It strikes fear into my heart. Basket down, to the lift, Lara calls it, sits on the floor for 2 seconds, crosses the café, baby changing, Lara pulls her bottom up to sit on the loo and gazes philosophically at the wall. “You never know what’s going to come out of your bottom, you see. You never know - until it happens.” It happens. I wipe her one-handed as Scout gnaws my face. As we cross the café, Lara screams. I look around to see who has thrown acid in her face. “I forgot to eat my yoghurt that I was saving!!!!! And they’ve cleared it away!!!!!!” “Let’s get another sweetheart. Here’s the money. You pay for it.” Back down for shopping. Pay, back to car. Pack children. Unpack boot. Repack boot, integrating the new camping box. Very satisfying. Back home to unpack the duvet so we can now see where we’re driving. Pick up the coffee machine which is the real reason for coming home. We’re on our way.   THREE I listen to the radio. I sigh with joy. They sleep. It is peaceful. The campsite people are charming but there is an ominous set of wheelbarrows lined up next to the car park. The lady shows us to our field which is a long way away from the car. “Which pitch shall we choose, Lara?” “Is this our holiday house?” says Lara dubiously. A woman passes us carrying a cockerel. “He’s called Trevor,” she says, “he’s been in our tent all afternoon. But now he’s pooed we don’t want him anymore.” I could see her point but Trevor couldn’t and once he and Scout had become best friends he decided to move into our tent instead. I now had to negotiate getting the gear from the car into the wheelbarrow and up the slope without leaving my two small girls on their own in a field. The only way to do this was to leave my two small girls on their own in a field. I’ll be honest the tent has seen better days. But once the poles were in, it was only a matter of time before I’d got it up. I’d refused the offer of help from the lovely campsite owner. Really, how hard could it be. Lara and Scout watched me, one pair of big doleful grey eyes and one pair of enormous startled blue ones. “Lara, just help me darling will you. Put the thing in the thing.” “Can I have my chocolate?” “Not until you’ve put up the tent.” “But I can’t, mummy, I’m too small.” “Just clip the clips on.” “I don’t LIKE doing this!! I want my CHOCOLATE.” “Absolutely not until this tent’s up.” The tent isn’t going anywhere. Cockerel lady passes by and I ask her for her help in a louche only-if-you’ve-got –nothing-better-to-do way. Scout crawls around looking for poisonous bugs that she can eat. Her bare skin glistens in the searing heat. Cockerel lady’s husband intervenes, puts my tent up, takes it down again, mends it with half a roll of gaffer and then puts it back up again. His wife looks after Scout. I babble incoherently. Lara makes small talk with their son who is 9. “Hello,” she says, “Do you want to come to the barn with me and sit on the sofa?” He reluctantly agrees and they go off together into the undergrowth holding hands, her plaited hair bristling out into a halo and his skinny legs under his black shorts. For a second I wonder if this is fine. Then I decide it is because she has spent the last 20 minutes being a pain in the arse and this way I can get on with putting things inside our holiday house. So I leave Scout on her own in the middle of a field reassuring myself that there is nothing she can fall off and if she was going to poison herself she would have done it already. It pretty soon becomes clear that abandoning the duvet was a really bad idea. We are badly down on sleeping equipment. Scout has emptied a bottle of water over herself and is onto her last outfit. I collect Lara from the barn where she has been sitting companionably with Nicky bringing him up to date on news of several people he’s never met. “What did you talk about to that boy?” She looks sheepish. “He’s not a boy.” “Oh?” “Or a girl.” “Ok.” “He’s just a special person.” “Ok.” Guy arrives. He grasps the situation immediately and settles down to create a meal out of pasta and fruit yoghurt while I open a can of pimms. For a moment I feel perfect. “Shoes off in the inner tent. Those are the rules.” “It’s good to have rules, Mummy. That’s how you know what to do.” “Yup. Don’t kick Scout in the head. That’s another rule.” “What’s this, mummy?” “It’s sort of an air hole. It’s not a door, no, don’t crawl through it.” “I love this holiday house.” I get Scout to sleep and Guy reads to Lara from her flower fairy book. He makes flower fairy poems sound like Shakespeare. Lara comes into my tent and I sing to her all the best songs. She stares at me in wonder and admiration. She says: “I love you mummy. So much.” “So do I, darling.” “What’s that?” “It’s sort of another airhole. It’s so you can see the sky.” “Don’t zip the tent up.” “Sleep time.” “I love this holiday.” I leave her and sit by a fire that Guy has made. She lies with one arm out of the inner tent. To an untrained observer you might think she was just stretching but she is actually testing how long it will take to have her whole body outside of the tent without appearing to move at all. My approach is to hope she will fall asleep before that happens but Guy is a novice and keeps going to check. Lara sings to herself. “Twinkle, twinkle, little star, like a diamond in the sky” Guy thinks it is sweet which is exactly the effect she was after. Scout yells as if she is being murdered. I go to bed. In the night, I move around bits of cloth to try and cover my children. I am freezing cold and my shoulder has cramp from trying to cuddle Lara while feeding Scout. They sleep like babies.   FOUR In the morning I put on coffee and buy some biscuits at the honesty shop. Another £1.30 I owe them and will forget to pay. We eat biscuits and yoghurt for breakfast. “Can I take some biscuits to the people in the brown tent.” “Yes, darling, but check if they are up first.” “Can you come with me.” “No.” “Can Guy come with me.” “Alright.” After Guy leaves, I pack up the tent which is much easier than putting it up and wheel everything to the car in a contraption consisting of Scout in her pram, me pushing the pram and hauling the wheel barrow and Lara pushing from behind. Cockerel lady’s husband looks surprised. “Were you only staying for a night?” he says. I laugh gaily and slightly insanely. We head off to the MAD museum in Stratford because Lara has overheard that that is where Nicky is going. The rain falls in torrents. I load up the children in the state they were when they woke up this morning. I am not surprised to discover that the car phone charger doesn’t seem to work. They never do. We go old school and follow signs. We go to buy socks from M&S. “I’ll choose Mummy.” “Naturally.” “The stripey ones for me and the tiger ones for Scout.” “Done.” We pay up. Lara says: “I’ve done a pee on the floor.” I look down. The bed pants with their 17 hours catchment have finally burst their banks. I steer her in the direction of the loos smiling benignly at the other customers. “Try to walk normally.” But she lopes dramatically across the floor like a well hung cowboy after a particularly fierce rodeo session, her bed pants swinging by her knees. Scout lets us a huge sigh and hangs her arms over the edge of the pram. In the MAD museum there is a workshop for fixing all the clockwork works of art. I sweetly ask a man if I could borrow some pliers to fix my pram. What I mean is could I borrow him to fix my pram. He does so and it takes him about 40 minutes. We bump into cockerel lady’s husband who asks me whether I make a habit of asking strangers to fix things. It seems a bit sharp but he is smiling. Scout is entranced by all the exhibits. She shakes her head rigorously and bobs up and down in time with the clicks. Her hands make sawing motions in the air like a dancer at a 90s rave. Lara finds Nicky and follows him around the room at a discrete distance. Our final stop is icecream. The cafe is full so Lara goes to sit demurely at a table while I get her red icecream. She is too small to be seen so two other ladies also head for the same table. By the time I get there she is on her own again. “They asked me if I had a mummy.” “What did you say?” I ask frantically. “I said you were buying icecream.”

L: Joe-Joe-Joe-Joe-Joe-Joe-Joe-Joe-Joe-Joe-Joe-Joe-Joe. Hi. J: Hi. L: Just getting out of my pram. J: Great. L: Going to have a look at your toys. J: Amazing. L: Good toys. J: Thanks. L: Do you want a plastic fish? J: Thanks. L: Just going to headbutt my mum. J: Cool. I’ll do the same. L: That was fun. J: Lala? L: Yes Joe. J: I thought we could maybe run up and down the corridor between the kitchen and then back to the front room. Lots of times. L: Fuck yeah. I’m right behind you. J: Let’s smash this place. L: YEAH. WAIT…. Joe. J: Yes Lala. L: Let’s not get caught. J: What are talking about? L: Let’s keep going. J: What do you mean? L: GO. J: You sure? L: Yeah. THEN WE COULD PULL ALL THE BOOKS OFF THE BOOKSHELF. J: FUCK YEAH. L: KISS ME JOE. Ok, I fell over. J: It’s okay. L: It’s these shoes. They don’t work properly. J: Yeah, I know what you mean. L: I’ll just stamp on the books.

L: There is overcrowding in this room. A: Look, there’s Lawrie. L: DON’T LET GO OF MY HAND. A: Do you want to be a sleepy bunny? L: No. A: Shall we say hello to Freya? L: No. A: Lie down next to Freya, that’s right, be a sleepy bunny. L: I need to put my foot where that boy’s face is. His face is in the way. A: Don’t kick Rufus. L: Cock. A: And…. “Hop little bunny hop hop hop.” L: Fuck off. A: Back to sleep sleepy bunny. Where are you going? L: That child has food you didn’t tell me there was food. A: Say sorry. You scratched Ella. L: WHY DON’T I HAVE ANY FOOD? A: “Old Macdonald had a farm…”. Come back into the circle. L: Got my eye on the weird happy lady. Where’s the food? A: She can’t play her guitar when you’re standing that close to her. L: YOUR GUITAR MAKES ME WANT TO DIE. A: Take a few steps back and play your maracas. L: Can I eat them? Nope. SO WHAT GODDAMN USE ARE THEY TO ME??? A: Look Lara! What’s in the buttercup bag?…. L: The happy lady’s throwing things on the floor. I feel very vulnerable. A: Animals! Would you like one? L: Yup. I’ll have them all. A: Just one. L: Take this pig. Keep it safe. I’m going back in. A: Thank you. Just one… just – L: NO NO NO NO NO NOOOOOOO. A: Baby! What’s wrong? L: NO NO NO NO NOOOOOOOOO. I WANT THE COW. I WANT THE COW. I WANT THE COW. ALARM ALARM. BARP BARP BARP BARP.. SHUT DOWN SHUT DOWN. I WANT THE MOTHERFUCKING COOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWW A; Biscuit? L: Yup.

L: Hi. C: xxx L: Can I come where you are? C: xxx L: Just a little bit further, just to where you are? C: Prefer not. L: I like your tail. I like cats. I like your fur. I like twinkley eyes like yours. I used to be a cat in a former life. C: Whatever. L: Will you be my cat friend? C: No. Human scum. L: I’m not human. I can go several days without pooing. C: Whatever. L: Shall I get up on the fence where you are? C: Don’t come any closer. L: Ok. C: You still here? L: Just hanging out. Picking off a bit of this bark. These flowers are really messy. C: I don’t care. L: Nor do I. C: I’m off. L: No, NO NO NO NO NO NO!!!!!! C: Definitely off. L: You can have the messy stupid ugly flowers. Here! They’re all for you. DON’T GO OR I’LL KILL YOU. C: Got any food? L: Yes yes yes yes yes. I’ve got a biscuit. I’m saving it for later at the bottom of my animal box. Stay there please. I’ll get it for you. C: REAL food? L: Yes yes yes. C: Fish? L: Yes yes yes yes yes. Definitely. In the house. BITCH MOTHER GET SOME FISH. GET SOME FISH. OH NO, LOOK WHAT YOU’VE DONE!! THE CAT’S GONE!! YOU”VE DESTROYED MY LIFE. THE CAT’S GONE. THE ONLY THING I EVER LOVED. THE CAT’s GOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNEEEEEE!!! Biscuit? Fine. Lovely.

L: MUMMY!!!!! THE DOGS HAVE STARTED TO EAT MY EYEBALLS!!!! A: Shsssssss. Have you had a bad dream? Mummy’s here. L: Sleep no more! Sleep no more! Mummy has murdered sleep. A: Shhsssshh. L: Boob. A: No. L: Get it out. Under this. Get it out or I will keep you awake FOR THE REST of YOUR LIFE. A: Let’s cuddle. L: NOWAYYYY!!!! Well, ok. I’ll just pop my finger up your nose for safe keeping. Going to lie this way. A: You’re going to lie across me with your feet in my face? L: Yup. Flesh. Need to pinch some flesh. A: Ow! Not my neck. Pinch Mumf. L: NEED TO PINCH HUMAN FLESH!! – Get rid of the fucker!! A: We’ll put him over here. Close your eyes. No pinching. L: Got them shut. A: Good girl. L: Got them open again. A: *!@£$@£@$£ L: Got them shut. A: There. L: Got them open again. Guess what I’m going to do next. A: ALRIGHT!! Pinch my neck. L: Nice…………………………………Wait. A: For god’s sake. L: Just had a thought. A: Please please don’t sit up. L: I sleep best standing on my head. A: No you don’t. L: Now I’m up though, as I was saying, there are all these amazing wiggley things in the world and they are all a bit like my wiggley hands, look at my wiggley hands and I can wiggle them high in the air or low down wiggle wiggle and we’ve got to do something about them. A: Shall we lie you down again. L: Where’s Mumf? A: Here’s Mumf. L: That’s right. A: That’s right. L: ………………………………………………… WHERE ARE YOU GOING??!! WHO SAID YOU COULD LEAVE THE ROOM??!! YOU MOTHER FUCKING CRAZY BITCH YOU HAVE KILLED MY LIFE AND I WILL MAKE YOU PAY FOR THAT FOREVER YOU BABY ABANDONER!!!!!!!!!!!! A: No no no… I’m here. It’s ok. L: You sleep here. Next to me. On the hard bit.

L: Get me that. A: What? L: That? A: This? L: No. That. A: That? L: Not THAT. THAT. A: Where? L: Over there. In that precise all-around-the-room location. A: Bread? L: NO A: Orange? L: NO A: Drink? L: I spit on the drink! I throw the stupid fucker on the floor! A: Weetabix? Cheese? Spaghetti? Pot plant? L: AHHHHHHHHHH!!! NOOOOOO MOTHERFU – Door. A: Door? L: Door. Door. A: Closed? You want the door – L: Closed. Door. A: Better? L: LEAVE THE DOOR. NOT THE BLOODY DOOR AGAIN!!! A: Shhshh baby – Table, spoon, yoghurt? L: ALARM ALARM ALARM A: Calm baby, please, milk, banana, marmite, credit cards? L: EVACUATE EVACUATE EVACUATE A: Peanut butter? L: EVACU- yup. A: You want peanut butter? L: Yup. A: The peanut butter on the high shelf? L: Yup. A: Behind everything else? L: Yup. A: That’s what you were pointing at? L: Yup. Yup. A: Done. L: FUCKING HATE PEANUT BUTTER. STOP DESTROYING MY LIFE. A: Calm down baby. L: CAN’T. CALM. DOWN. TAKEN OVER BY ALIENS LOSING IT LOSING IT MELT DOWN MELT DOWN BARP BARP BARP BARP A: Shhhhssssh baby. L: CUDDLE ME YOU MOTHER FUCKING BITCH MOTHER. A: Darling, I’m sorry. Are you hurt? What happened baby? L: I’m fine. A: You’re fine. L: Yup. A: You sure? L: Yup. Totally fine…..Get me that