Tag: daddyblog

Hotel Quarantine: A Dickensian Tale – June 2020

Hotel Quarantine: A Dickensian Tale – June 2020

by Jupiter and Sons ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

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DAY 1: Wednesday 10 June 2020

Arrived last night around midnight. Rather bizarre flight; attendants dressed like artisan butchers. Milo and Jupes awake at 1100hrs, Kuepps and Monty at 1300hrs. In important news we have at least 3 Pokestops we can spin, 4 when the GPS is a little off.

Food is of prison grade, but might sustain us in the short term. We have already taken delivery of a substantial care package from Oma, including vacuum cleaner and Nespresso machine. Boys asleep at 2100hrs, awake at 0040hrs. Midnight snack consumed consisting of fried egg, ham and cheese on toast. Asleep at 0200hrs.

  • Total new Pokemon caught/ evolved: 2
  • Total pear count: 4
  • Total Creme Caramel count: 4

DAY 2: Thursday 11 June 2020

It is still raining. It would appear, from our voyeuristic peering out the window, that there is not in fact a zombie apocalypse in Australia. This morning I saw a man, normal looking fella, just carrying and drinking a takeaway coffee like it was nothing. Everybody up around 1000hrs, exciting toast breakfast.

Everybody very confused about time, its relativity, and apparent disinterest in us.

Gifts received from Ama and Aba delivered an excellent, and rather festive, unit of time. ‘Find-a-Pikachu’ book proving important in the early stages. Pikachu now being found with relative ease, but Monty still feigning surprise/ excitement; likely for our benefit.

2100hrs bedtime again did not stick. 0130hrs midnight snack, less ambitious than yesterday. Milo took the opportunity to quiz Monty on various aspects of the Pokemon Encyclopedia – this evening focusing on ‘types’.

  • Total new Pokemon caught/ evolved: 2
  • Total pear count: 8
  • Total Creme Caramel count: 8
  • Total food box count: 24

DAY 3: Friday 12 June 2020

So, the boys had a bit of biffo today. From what we can piece together it would seem Monty was irritating Milo during Pokemon Go, so Milo gave him a bit of a shove, so Monty went immediately to his secret weapon and nipped Milo on the arm, so Milo ratcheted things up a little and gave Monty a fair thump on his back – at least twice based on the tiny fist-sized bruises, so Monty made the most of his opportunity and executed a really pretty reasonable chomp on Milo’s thigh. By the time we arrived both were in pieces, shocked that they had wrought such horrors upon each other. We declared a gentlemen’s draw, but cancelled the next morning’s Pokemon Go session.

A heavy penalty indeed.

Separately, we have begun shooting juggling balls at an empty plastic bin, without joy. Milo, in an effort to add tension and intrigue, proposed he might try to block the shots; you know, to make a game of it. His technique, which was pretty well conceived, was to insert his entire head and shoulders into the bin. To be fair this made it pretty difficult to score a basket, so the game petered out nil/ nil. Still, it was a unit of time.

  • Total pear count: 12 (-1 eaten = 11)
  • Total Creme count: 12 (8 caramel, 2 Choco, 2 panacotta)
  • Total new Pokemon caught/ evolved: 4

DAY 4: Saturday 13 June 2020

Today we wrote a Haiku.

Hotel Quarantine.

What is it, this thing called time?

Why does it mock me?

Without sunshine, jetlag is proving very persistent. Ghosts drift past each other at all hours of the night, in the gloom, to or from the bathroom, or kitchen… or somewhere else. Faces take on an ethereal quality, a soft green, illuminated by the ‘Mad Mex’ across the road.

Today we have abandoned the utilitarian, ‘survival first’ fare we have been receiving at our front door three times a day with a knock, followed by the sound of hastened scuttling back to the lift. The societal instincts imprinted on our human DNA quickly established for us the optimum quantum of time between ‘knock’ and ‘open’. As fun as it would be to lurk behind the door, quietly listening, in order to spring it open upon the first knock, with a smile; “good morning, how are you? Thanks for the sustenance, got anything planned today?”… it simply wouldn’t do. We are of course modern day lepers, exiled to Kalaupapa Island, unworthy of human contact – until our glorious redemption in 9 days time.

At bedtime we changed the boys from their day-time pyjamas into their night-time pyjamas, which in turn became their day-time pyjamas. It is a wild, relentless cycle.

Also, today we ate pizza; which was like being reborn.

  • Food counting stats will now be discontinued.
  • The box count has also stagnated at 36.

DAY 5: Sunday 14 June 2020

When they have nothing there is nothing left to take away. We have zero leverage. Pokemon Go; is it played? Is it not? For how long? This is all we have. We give it. We retract it. We dangle it. It hovers like the Sword of Damocles.

But if the four of us were to be honest with each other, the lustre of this virtual world has faded. How can one walk 10km with one’s Eevee in order to evolve it into an Umbreon at night when your world is a hotel room? This is not a jaunty thought experiment to stimulate conversation. This is reality. Today our hunt yielded zero new Pokemon, not even a Poliwag from the mountainous region of Kaloa – often referred to as the ‘rat of Kalos’ by residents of the regional capital Lumiose City.

Where have all the Pokemon gone? I ask again, where have all the Pokemon gone?

Today I did a small dance to entertain the boys. Monty, unamused, said; “I hate your bloody hips. I hate your bloody butt. I hate your bloody dance.” A stinging review.

The remnants of Saturday night’s pizza buoyed spirits as we enter the second week.

DAY 7: Monday 15 June 2020

We had developed a sensation that time was not obeying its normal rules, and this morning this has been confirmed. We have learned that the day we arrived was actually Day 1, so today is actually Day 7, not Day 6. Ordinarily losing a day of your life would be cause for some consternation, but under the current circumstances it is a delight.

Further, we have learned that on Day 14 we can leave at 0001hrs. We’re not sure that during a Global Pandemic there would be suitable entertainment venues to cater for a family of four open at that hour; but it is nice to have the option. We celebrated by splitting a KitKat.

We have a bluetooth speaker here with us in Hotel Quarantine; it offers some respite, and reminds us of the life we once had. However, we are forever vigilant to ensure “Crazy Frog – Axel F” never gets a chance to play; one eye is always on the Spotify shuffle. The chance is far from zero. Here are our Spotify playlists that currently feature “Crazy Frog – Axel F”:

  • On Repeat – The songs you can’t get enough of right now
  • Repeat Rewind – Past songs that you couldn’t get enough of
  • Your Top Songs – 2019
  • Your Top Songs – 2018

Should one rendition slip through our net we fear disaster; that Crazy Frog has such an immediate and visceral impact on our children that the ensuing hysteria may well drag them and us into a tornado of chaos from whence we would not return intact.

In our view this song should be banned from all Quarantine Hotels, nationwide.

DAY 8: Tuesday 16 June 2020

Despite requesting a discontinuation to the food deliveries they still continue to arrive at our door from time-to-time, like a stray cat we fed once.

Sometimes we let them into our house, and regret it. Most times we quickly re-shut the door and remain quiet for 5 minutes. One time we left a note before bed “no more food please”. The next morning it had been replaced by food.

Our pile of pears, plain crisps and single-serve UHT milk is now so vast it appears we are preparing to make a food drop to a group of stranded hikers.

We are now very used to the rhythm of door knocks, and we can usually deduce their purpose before opening the door. An out-of-sync doorknock is therefore cause for some stimulation and excitement within our small dwelling; one’s imagination is quickly unleashed; fire drill? mis-addressed Uber Eats? Census volunteer? Mormon? Today we received such a knock and scampered to the door. Was it somebody notifying us we had been deemed safe to return to society? Nope, fresh linen.

Just before he fell asleep tonight Monty said to me; “daddy, why is it night time?” Of course that sentence makes no sense at all, except for the fact it is probably the most poignant thing he has ever said. Why is it night time?

DAY 9: Wednesday 17 June 2020

The nurse rang this morning to advise our big test will be tomorrow; sometime between “9 and 5”. I said; “anytime, we’ll be here”. I was quite pleased with my quip, but the nurse really gave me very little response, which I though was unfair.

I found Monty switching the light on and off by himself this afternoon, absentmindedly saying “on… off…”. Otherwise, everything is fine.

In the evening we decided to Uber some burritos from the Mad Mex that has been throwing its ghoulish green glow into our apartment for the last week. We rather liked the idea of controlling something in the real world and watching it unfold before our eyes.

The boys and I gathered by a window with a fine view of the entrance and waited with giddy excitement for the Uber cyclist to arrive. Alas, somehow we missed Tomas both arriving and departing, but we did not miss his maniacal cycle path around the city which looked like somebody playing Snake 1 on a NOKIA 3310, badly.

If Tomas had a reasonable arm, which we assessed he did from his photo, he probably could have lobbed our burritos up through our window (if they opened of course), but instead they took 31 minutes to arrive; shiny, and a bit distended.

Monty took 3 successful bites and then the bottom gave way in his lap. Milo took a nibble, claimed it was too spicy and ate corn chips. Kuepps’ ‘gluten free bowl’ was wrapped in a tortilla whose principle ingredient was gluten. So I ate an unsafe number of lukewarm burritos whilst trying unsuccessfully to keep the mood festive.

Still, Burrito Night was probably in the top 3 Hotel Quarantine events so far… top 2, actually.

DAY 10: Thursday 18 June 2020

In the 1990 Sci-Fi classic Total Recall Douglas Quaid (played by ‘peak Arnie’) is pursued by Cohaagen’s goons who seek to eliminate him. Having evaded the first wave of attackers Quaid discovers a suitcase which contains, among other things, a video recording of himself (as Hauser). Hauser gets Quaid (and the audience) up to speed on the plot background and then instructs Quaid to remove a tracking device that has been lodged in his skull.

Quaid discovers a rather ominous looking rod in the suitcase, which looks a bit like a tool that might be useful for a lobotomy. At Hauser’s prompting Quaid pushes the rod up his nose – offering helpfully, “just shove real hard”. “When you hear the crunch, you’re there” he adds reassuringly. What follows is a classic early 90s CGI scene as Quaid ever-so-slowly drags an audaciously large glowing red sphere out of his improbably stretched nostril.

I am convinced whomever devised the COVID-19 swab test was watching Total Recall at the same time… or at least the night before.

Today was testing day.

DAY 11: Friday 19 June 2020

We are rather detached from the weather. Our world oscillates wildly between 23.4C and 22.8C. We put jumpers on. We take them off. But we don’t know why.

When grass, ground and fire Pokemon yield weather bonuses we know it is sunny. Normal and rock type? We know it is partly cloudy. Otherwise we peer out of our reverse fishbowl at the humans and try to deduce climatic conditions from their wrappings and behaviour.

We haven’t yet completely ironed out the difference between ‘cafe’ activewear and ‘fitness’ activewear, nor the difference between hipster and utilitarian flannies – but in general we can make a pretty good assessment.

Meanwhile we had delivery gelato tonight; which, alongside 3D printing and Segways, must be in the running for best invention of the 21st Century.

DAY 12: Saturday 20 June 2020

We fear the outside world may have become for our children something of a memory, an apparition.

This morning Monty, with his beautiful round little face propped up on the palm of his hand, and his curly golden mullet streaming out behind him, like 100 yellow Slinkies have been fastened to a fan, in no particular order, and the fan turned onto a setting of 4, and he says “father (actually he said daddy, but father fits the image far better, more Jane Austen) father, please take me to the sea”. I asked him what he would like to see, at the sea. He looked wistfully out the window, the morning light playing in his bobbing Slinkies, and said with a flourish “I would like to see a dolphin”.

We need to get out of here.

DAY 13: Sunday 21 June 2020

So the cavalry arrived this morning. Around 1000hrs we received a knock. Due to the aforementioned ‘knock-delay etiquette’ we ignored it. Shortly thereafter followed a second, more insistent, knock. So Kuepps and I hustled and stumbled to the door, suddenly stimulated by the possibility of an ‘out-of-routine’ encounter.

We were greeted by a veritable posse of official looking Australians; army, police, medical professionals. “Milo, come look”, I shouted “humans”. None of the posse really offered a giggle, clearly not new material.

Our children emerged from the darkened bedroom where they had been playing; Monty carrying his blanket, both with their mullets still frizzy from the previous night’s sleep, both squinting and looking generally confused. Of the 4 of us Milo was the first to gather himself; stepping forward to say hello. Milo then fielded all questions on behalf of the family; names, DOB, ages. He then presented his forehead for the obligatory temperature check, and scored a very solid 36.4.

He was proud of himself. We all were.

As a family we nailed it; 36.4, 36.4, 36.4 36.2. We made subtle eye contact with each other and enjoyed a mental family fist-bump.

One of the army chaps then stepped forward, cleared his throat, and made the formal presentations – certificates of societal worthiness all around, for our CVs or LinkedIn profiles. We were then told we would be free to depart between midnight and 1000hrs tomorrow morning, and then as a parting gift we were all awarded a blue wrist band which simply says “MONDAY – COVID19 NSW”, identical to a band that might ordinarily give us limitless rides at Luna Park, or access to the ‘premium drinks package’ on the Ruby Princess; but this is something altogether more surreal.

So I sit here eating the last Choco Creme, which I found hidden at the back of the fridge – a remnant of the early days when single-serve desserts rained upon us like hand sanitizer – and reflect on the truly historic, and discombobulated times we (and I mean all of us) find ourselves in.

Over the Christmas ham last year who could have possibly conceived that just 6 months down the road we would need to lock all returning Australians in hotels for 2 weeks to protect the community from a not yet fully understood virus that is as yet far from under control. And thank goodness we live in a country that has the resources, and the poise to implement something like this.

These 14 days will eventually fade for us, as this year (and what lies ahead) will fade for us all… but what we won’t forget, and I suspect few of us will, is the centrality of family and community – they are keeping the world stumbling forward right now. For us, our tight little crew of four has moved peacefully through this very strange experience thanks to family and friends who have waved at the window, sent us food and coffee, and endless Pokemon paraphernalia, and those who have kept us entertained with memes, banter and promises of walks in the sun…

The world is much smaller than it was 6 months ago, but family is still family and community is still community. We are all re-learning what matters, pondering what tomorrow might look like, when we get there… and maybe nudging our priorities around just a little bit.

So that’s it; we will depart at 0730hrs tomorrow morning. To quote Antarctic explorer Captain Lawrence Oates; “I am just going outside and may be some time”.

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SSM: Just vote no!

SSM: Just vote no!

by Jupiter and Sons ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

After quite some agonizing our country recently decided to recognise one of the central tenets of a modern, civilized society, that being not to discriminate against people for no reason at all, and legalised same sex marriage (SSM). This marvelous leap forward was somehow achieved despite the concerted efforts of my eldest son.

Some weeks ago, while the voluntary, not-at-all legally binding, postal survey/ plebiscite/ pulse-check/ focus group, still appeared to hang in the balance, Milo and I took a stroll down Lonsdale Street in Canberra. Lonsdale Street must surely count among the most SSM supportive locales in Canberra, and therefore the nation. It has a roundabout at its midpoint which is painted in a dramatic rainbow swirl, rainbow streamers flutter from the light poles, frozen yoghurt is served with complimentary rainbow sprinkles, dogs are painted in rainbow colours and those dogs that happen to be boys merrily chase other boy dogs with no fear of judgement or retribution. I believe that day there may even have been a rainbow in the sky, following a little afternoon drizzle. In short, Lonsdale Street had been forsaken by the ‘no’ campaign.

As we strolled the wide, progressive, forward-leaning, tolerant footpath on our way to a cafe for a ‘treat’ (we were waiting for 4 new tyres to be fitted to our car, because Lonsdale Street is one of those rare and exciting streets along which one can purchase 17″ radials and vegan pancakes) we happened upon a large rainbow sandwich board with YES written upon it in bold, capitalised font. “What does that rainbow mean daddy?” came the question from my charming, inquisitive son.

Now, Milo already had some background on this matter, and likely already knew most of the answer; he had previously attended a same-sex-marriage rally, happily draping himself in rainbow streamers, chanting slogans of tolerance and equality, and generally being a cute, apparently reasonable young citizen.

I thought “what a sweet question, why don’t I take the opportunity to nourish my child, expand his awareness of social issues, treat him like the grown-up sentient young man that he is, build upon the already comfortable, excellent and ongoing dialogue in which we regularly engage on whatever topic his little mind meanders its way to”. I thought it would also be a wonderful opportunity to demonstrate what a thoughtful, articulate and clever young 3 year old I had raised to the numerous, bustling passers-by, on their way to further their enlightened social agendas.

We stopped, hand-in-hand, by the sandwich board, with the rainbow just peeking through the clearing clouds above, and I said “well Milo, this sign is encouraging people to vote yes to allow boys to marry boys and girls to marry girls if they want to. Isn’t that an excellent idea? What do you think?” Pleased with myself, I stepped back and awaited Milo’s adorable answer; I noted a slight smile on the face of a passing lady in her mid 30s wearing semi-formal attire, enjoying this simple moment between a father and his son.

“I want to vote no” said Milo.

“What?” I replied, with more desperation in my voice than you should allow when conversing with a 3 year old. “What do you mean?” I said with a slightly self-conscious giggle, immediately conscious of the numerous enthusiastic ‘yes’ voters who were most definitely within ear-shot.

“I want to vote no”

“I want to marry mummy, not daddy”

“Well…” I said, with parental maturity and control “that might be your opinion but the point of the vote is to allow everybody the opportunity to choose to marry whom they want, do you understand the difference?”

I was pleased with my response; surely the passers-by would see that ours was a house in which important issues were discussed and debated, where opinions were heard and respected. Not one in which rainbow flags are burned, and sky-writers paid to emblazon “NO” across the sky.

“I want to vote no, and I want to marry mummy not daddy”. Milo was now enjoying the sport, and this was not good for me; I was certainly losing control, and people were becoming interested in our conversation.

Things got a little more hostile.

“Well mate, frankly if you want to marry your mum it’s going to take more than a non-binding postal survey to change the constitution, and anyway you’re too young to vote, let’s keep moving.”

In order to flee the scene I firmly (but gently) pushed the back of his socially conservative head in the direction of the cafe. He was grinning.

In my haste to get off the street we stumbled into a vegan cafe. The child had been promised banana bread, so I leaned down to peer through the window box in a desperate search for a vegan substitute before he had a chance to say anything else mortifying.

While my back was turned Milo was perusing the room. Not unexpectedly it was liberally decked out in rainbows of all colours, sizes and sexual orientations.

“I want to vote no” he said, loudly. Really, very loudly. In quite a small cafe.

The percentage of patrons (which numbered in the teens) who did not hear Milo’s comment was surely zero. A hush descended on the group which had been, until our arrival, happily enjoying all manner of milk substitutes. All eyes shuffled swiftly, and judgmentally in my direction. Nobody was looking at the little knee-high neo-conservative looking up at me with his challenging eyes and maniacal grin. Why would they? How could a 3 year old possibly have adopted such last-century views without clear direction and guidance around the breakfast table.

I thought about engaging Milo in the same manner I had on the street, but with those wounds fresh, I thought better of it and instead decided to make our purchase, retreat to the rainbow roundabout and never return. I ordered a ‘vegan dessert kebab’ and a ‘cafe latte’ and then sought to distract my child by pointing out things in the window that looked like chocolate. As I bent down toward Milo the noticeably unimpressed barista asked me what type of milk I wanted. My brain, straining under supreme cognitive load, decided not to process this question and instead replied with its reptilian lobe;

“normal”, I said.

“Do you mean cow’s milk?” she asked, with a slight lowering of her eyelids, and a curling of her lip.

I stood up straight, my eyes quickly traversing every unimpressed face in the room as I swung them around toward the barista. “Um, yes please”. No response, only a return to activity at the coffee machine.

The kebab and coffee appeared mercifully quickly. I tucked the kebab under one arm, scooped up my recalcitrant child with the other and backed awkwardly and noisily out of the cafe. The last thing those patrons would have heard as we stumbled our way back onto the street was “daddy, do you know I want to marry mummy, not you?”; at an ever-diminishing volume as we dashed haphazardly toward the relative anonymity of the tyre yard…

 

Just vote no!
Colin – Monday 31 July 2017

Colin – Monday 31 July 2017

by Jupiter and Sons ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

Toddlers are unpredictable and shatteringly illogical, in an irritatingly logical way.

I am a great proponent of the ‘try to see it from their perspective whenever possible’ mantra. They have narrow frames of reference, incomplete life experience and minimal access to wikipedia. Many of the rules that govern their little lives are built on context, assumed knowledge and nuance. None of which they are particularly great at.

Take food for example. Without Harold the Healthy Giraffe (RIP), the Ribena Berries and Tony the Tiger, none of which are yet accessible to Milo, how would we know what is healthy and what is not? A cookie is undoubtedly tastier to eat than a tree of broccoli. When, as an adult, you choose to eat that tree taste is playing only a minor role in your overall deliberation. What care Milo for these deliberations? Milo knows very little about dietary fiber, pantothenic acid, vitamin B6, vitamin E and omega-3 fatty acids, and what he knows he doesn’t care for. So when we try to sell an argument that he needs to eat (insert arbitrary number) of broccoli trees before he can have a small fragment of cookie the whole thing must seem spurious, illogical, and frankly a little cruel. Two broccoli trees equals the upper portion of a kinder-surprise? Why? Over time our toddlers accept this devil’s compromise; but they never understand it, they never like it, and they never forgive us for wielding our power so capriciously.

There is no event that requires a more honest and consistent reflection on the ‘try to see it from their perspective’ mantra than introducing a new baby into a home already inhabited by a toddler.

Consider this.

About 4 months ago Kuepps (my wife) mentioned to me 2 or 3 times that later in the year she would be bringing home another man to live with us, another husband essentially with whom we would be sharing our lives from that point forward. I wasn’t really paying attention as I was building a wicked train track at the time, and besides the whole thing seemed esoteric, unlikely, and future-Jupes’ problem.

Kuepps mentioned this idea to me a few times at irregular intervals over the ensuing months. Each time I expressed my general displeasure with the idea but on reflection I must say I had the feeling my perspective wasn’t being given full consideration. The whole concept gave me a feeling of uneasiness but I continued to presume that something so outlandish and clearly damaging to our rather enjoyable and peaceful existence was very unlikely to happen.

About a week ago Kuepps dropped me at my mother-in-law’s house where I stayed for 2 nights. It was a bit weird, not a usual occurrence, and I was given no real explanation beyond “won’t it be fun to stay with your mother-in-law?” Not really, but they have quite good pastries and the whole thing was pleasant enough.

On the second morning I returned home looking forward to spending a little time with my wife, eating some smoked salmon, building a sweet tower out of Duplo and sharing some rather humorous anecdotes from my small trip away. When I arrived home I was quickly deflated however because there, sat on my couch with my wife, was a man. “Hi Jupes, how are you?” My wife said, in a voice so sweet it made me think something was up; “This is Colin, our new husband, isn’t he beautiful?”

What??!! No! He’s not beautiful at all, and hang on – what??!! I stayed where I was and had a good look at Colin. He was a bit younger than me, but looked eerily similar. He was ignoring me completely, didn’t even cast a look in my direction. I could tell immediately he was a bit of a dick. My world was spinning and Colin just sat there, dribbling on himself, looking lecherously up at my wife, occasionally clambering at her bosom in a gratuitous and entirely unseemly way. I was shattered.

“Oh look Jupes, Colin got you a terrific gift” I turned my head to the kitchen bench upon which sat a garishly wrapped gift of some kind. “Go on, open it!” Kuepps encouraged. Dumbfounded, I stumbled over to the kitchen and unwrapped it, a nice coffee machine. “Do you like it??” It was nice I must admit, but I could tell Colin had played no part in its procurement. He didn’t seem like a guy who would know anything about coffee machines. “Say thank you to Colin”.

“Thanks Colin”, I muttered, and slumped into my chair, head in my hands. Kuepps continued the charm offensive; “Isn’t it wonderful to have another man in the house? In time you and Colin are going to best friends!”

What!!?? That is absolutely not going to happen. Colin is clearly utterly self-involved, lascivious and arguably incontinent. I am not sharing anything with him, let alone my wife! As I was reaching for my mobile to call Colin a taxi my mum arrived, brushed past me and headed straight for Colin.

My mum then demanded to cuddle Colin and when she had pried him away from Kuepps she did this sickening little bobbing dance with him whilst continuously complimenting my wife on being so clever. What is this?? How could my own mother be so utterly unsympathetic to my situation. MY WIFE HAS JUST BROUGHT THIS STRANGE MAN COLIN INTO MY HOUSE, WHY IS EVERYBODY OK WITH THIS??

Eventually my mother stopped dancing with this strange man and then asked whether I would like to have Colin on my lap for a photo. Of course I don’t bloody well want Colin on my lap for a photo. I want Colin out of my house. At that point the rest of my family arrived, all in a buoyant mood despite the fact my world was collapsing around me. Somebody, I can’t even remember who, picked Colin up by his waist and dropped him down on my lap. “Smile Jupes” everybody was saying as they crowded around me for a photograph – nobody seemed to be insisting that Colin do anything; he just lay there, like a privileged, slightly orange, plump little interloper, waving his ill-proportioned little arms and legs around like he was having a seizure. The whole thing was a nightmare. I felt discombobulated, vulnerable and humiliated.

Over the following week things did not improve. I barely saw Kuepps; she and Colin would routinely disappear into the bedroom where they would giggle for hours. No Kuepps at bath time, no Kuepps at bed time, no Kuepps at all.

Colin. Has. Ruined. Everything.

…and that is why Milo has been afforded significant leeway for his transgressions over the past week. Considering the cataclysmic shift he has endured he is performing extremely well and both he and his brother Monty (not Colin) are learning slowly how to co-exist, and will in short order, I am positive, commence their allied overthrow of the house.

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Baby Monty