I’m sitting at the kitchen table with the children, and they’re munching chocolate money.
I pick up one of the empty gold foil discs and decide to have a bash at being Craft Mummy.
“These would make a good mobile,” I suggest.
“How?” demands my son, looking up from some serious chewing.
I suggest ways we could hang the shiny discs from different lengths of coloured string: if only we had some coloured string and if only the plain old hairy hessian string hadn’t been purloined by Ben for making booby traps in his bedroom.
How does Craft Mummy keep enough stuff in the house for all these spur of the moment activities?
I look up from my reverie and notice my son staring at me as if I were speaking a foreign language.
And then he asks, “How would that make a phone?”
21st century children, eh?
