Since we got back from holidays, I’ve spent a lot of time at home communing with my couch. Saintly Mr. Waffle has taken the Princess in and out to the creche. This is a bit stressful for him because it means that his working hours are somewhat curtailed. Friday morning was particularly trying. He couldn’t sleep and arose at 5.15 to do some work (I know, extraordinary and somewhat alarming dedication). Madam woke at 7.15. Following a lengthy breakfast, some story reading, a little drawing, some dancing and some running around the house to get her dressed, she and Mr. Waffle finally left for the creche at 9.00. I thought that he was going to have a heart attack. I may have mentioned that I am married to the only punctual Irish man and he really HATES being late for work. I heaved a sigh of relief. Two minutes later, an upset husband and a serene toddler re-entered the premises. Apparently, no sooner had she sat into the car than she announced I want to do a poo. I sat her on the pot with some trepidation; if she doesn’t produce this poo, we could all die horribly. You will be delighted to hear that all was well and at 9.15, a mere four hours after getting up, my loving spouse was able to depart for work.