I am on my own. Well almost. Lilly is a sleep downstairs. But the rest of the family have deserted me. Mrs BW has gone to Wales to stay with her mum, and the teenagers are out. The Munch to hang out with his mates in the local park, the Weasel, who is now seventeen, to her friend Amy’s to watch a film. Yeah right and I’m from Mars. This is the same Weasel who does not buy cigarettes, but explained in that irritable way those teenagers have of explaining things to their parents, that the reason why her waste bin was full of empty packets of cigarettes was because obviously “I just offered to throw the packets away for my friends to save them having to do it”. When she offered this as an explanation, I just laughed. Which of course drew the anguished comment that, “you never believe anything I say?” Well no I don’t if that’s the best you can do! She is also possessed of magic clothes and shoes. She goes out wearing jeans and baggy sweater and returns in the dog watch hours wearing a dress and high heels. Rather clever. The Munch is at the grunting stage and spends an inordinate amount of time in the bathroom. He cannot walk past a mirror or any vertical reflective surface without stopping to run his hands through his hair. I am sure that this is a reflex condition. He cannot help it. I guess he will grow out of it. I did.