Colour me beautiful: green sponges, red indians, white children with pink eyes, black moods and lemons.

We have been singularly untroubled by Daddy Shortlegs since his removal to Birmingham (this is an approximate address to preserve anonymity!). He is confused about when he might return.

‘So I’ll be back on Wednesday,’ he says.

‘No. You’re coming back on Saturday.’

‘Wednesday, is it?’

‘No, Saturday!’ says Richard taking the phone away from his ear and staring directly down the receiver as if telepathy could work its magic. The conversation continues ad infinitum…

I assume that he prefers Wednesday for some reason and will try to wilfully misunderstand but the kitchen isn’t quite finished; the fitter has taken the day off as some components won’t arrive until tomorrow. Rich and I have taken the opportunity to sort out the scary under-the–stairs cupboard. Witness the wonder of the ever-growing mountain of J-cloths or the self-replicating pan scourers that seem to multiply like amoeba at an orgy. The EU light bulb and kitchen roll mountain take up another cupboard or two. You wouldn’t find as many cleaning products if this was the sluice room of a hospital ward or the housekeeping cupboard of a Lusthouse Forte. We may have to have Jack’s shopping rights removed by Tesco... “Help the Aged to aisle 4 please”

We have 3 vacuum cleaners stored below the stairs. Rich is hard at work breaking his fourth. No sorry I forgot. He and his father don’t break things. They break. They don’t work. They go wonky. He’s got a screwdriver out so expect bad news. Not that they don’t love bad news or misery.

When they lived in Chippenham (Ooh! the spellchecker asks do I mean Chippewa – Big Chief Sitting Room? Don’t correct my Native American history as it’s merely a pun not a ruddy dissertation. I Google ‘Chippewa’ and it asks me do I mean the Ojibwa people. My Nan would have said ‘did they live over Hakin way? Next to the Harris family. Wasn’t she the woman with the hair who used to run the post office…’ Cue a lengthy ramble as my family come to the conclusion that she married a boy from Neyland and was last seen in Safeways buying cooked ham. Nearest we get to an Indian Reservation is a table for four at the Bengal Brasserie) anyway…

When they lived in Chippenham they had neighbours with albino children, one of whom fell out of a train and died. On the other side lived two of the Plymouth Brethren with a none too apt surname. ‘Gay by name but not by nature,’ as Rich’s mum used to say. Along with a matchbox label collecting brother playing Led Zeppelin on the wrong speed or backwards, Richard and his religious mania and closet homosexuality (quite common bedfellows) and Daddy Shortlegs with his love of Mahler and grumpiness, it comes as no surprise that Richard’s mum went out a lot. It’s life’s way of telling you to drink more. After all, if life gives you lemons, you’d better get the gin and tonic out!