When I came home from work one day in late June, the childminder said to me : “Your daughter wanted to know the meaning of the word ‘amant’ but I felt it was best if you explained when you got home.” He then left; she was very anxious for an explanation. I was distracted, however, from my difficult task by the sight of a number of small downy feathers floating around the utility room. No sign of the cat either, ominous.
I explained the word “amant” to the Princess asking how this had come up [apparently, the childminder had been scraping old newspaper from the floor – don’t ask – and come across a cutting on the death of Diana and Dodi – thank you British royal family for indirectly introducing my child to the concepts of infidelity and the amant] and was interrupted by a piercing squeal. I ran and added my own piercing squeal as the cat was sitting on the utility room floor tucking in with great gusto to a meal of a small bird. To her intense chagrin [and indeed mine but Mr. Waffle was not yet home so I saw my duty clear] I chased her off it and picked up the bloody corpse in a plastic bag which I swept into the dustpan and then threw in the bin. Moments later I saw that one of the children had put the dustpan and brush on the work surface in the kitchen. It was all very trying. Can I tell you how glad I am that the summer holidays are finally upon us?
