On two minor incidents of parental zeal in a single day: Packing up after a morning in the courthouse I thought I’d skip my afternoon classes, take a slow stroll to Everton Park for pierogis and coffee at The Provision Shop, and write up my client notes over lunch. I then found, lurking at the bottom of my handbag, a pink lunchbox, containing one sandwich (fried egg, tomato, bacon, on walnut bread, cut in two and each half clingwrapped). Minz-Papa had got up early to make breakfast and handed the box to me as I was dashing out the door in the morning, and I’d shoved it into my bag and forgotten all about it. (Was this why the security guys took so long scanning my bag? Were they envious of my sandwich?) I ate it on a stony ledge outside the courthouse while scribbling my notes on my knees. Though not re-fuelled by strong coffee I totter home to collapse gently into the arms of sleeeeeeep.

***

No sooner had I arrived on our doorstep than I was intercepted by the Mother. ‘Your father’s friend didn’t come for lunch today, so we have an extra pork chop.’ Before I could finish crying “the blackguard!” I found myself eating a second lunch and wondering vaguely which snake it was that swallowed its prey whole and then went to sleep for twenty days.