I was sorting laundry in my bedroom this afternoon when Flea called to me from her bedroom.
“Mummy! Guess what I just did. It’s really funny.”
“Go on, what?”
“Oh, hang on…am I allowed to write on doors?”
“No, definitely not.”
“Okay. Never mind.”
There’s a pause.
“Mummy?”
“Yes?”
“Do you know where my special rubber is?”
I sense an attempted cover-up may be in the works.
