To renew the children’s passports, we have to bring them to a police station and let a Garda look at them. This may or may not be because Mr. Waffle was not born in Ireland but in a country well known to harbour dangerous subversives (Canada, since you ask). So on Sunday we trooped into the station where the Gardaí duly looked the children over and pronounced that they matched the photos. During that time, I fielded the following questions from the Princess based on a series of posters on the wall:
What is rape? [Having looked at these excellent but disturbing posters]
What’s human trafficking?
What’s a drug dealer?
While doing this, I had also to break up a fist fight between the boys on the subject of Daniel’s wellingtons.
Unrelated: Praxis, please advise on the capitalisation of the title.
I’ve had exactly the same experience plus all the missing children posters, and a few crimes being recounted by witnesses in vivid detail. “Mummy, what is a revelover exactly?”
“revolver”
Typing without glasses. It has come to this.
What I want to know is how you responded ….
I’ll get my coat.
Lesley, the glasses, the revolver, the indignity. Have gone back to tennis and find I can no longer see when the ball is out. Oh middle age, how lovely you are.
Ah, Pog, those words “I’ll get my coat” bring me back to the heyday of 20six. Happy memories.