That thing when your three year old son refuses to eat his dinner and goes in to full nuclear melt down but you think you manage to rescue the situation by offering the emergency banana only for this option to go horribly wrong because your moment of daddy-fun-genius catastrophically backfires when you open the banana from the other end resulting in a tantrum that would cripple a general so you end up having to tape up the broken banana with electric tape so that you can reopen said banana at the proper end... yeah, that!
Day 7 in the life of #ErrolTheBlister. We were in a cafe in Ealing having lunch. It was all quite lovely with Ruth and O sharing a pizza (I say share when I really mean Ruth was eating it and O was refusing to eat it despite pizza supposedly being his favourite food), I was enjoying the big breakfast and A was enjoying some of my chips (because she'd insisted that she didn't want any food "AT ALL!!!"). Suddenly during the meal A shouted "HEEEEEEY!" It wasn't till the drive home that we realised that the water which had landed on her forehead and hair was not a random ceiling drip but must have been Errol's insides when he finally burst like a scene that was cut from the movie "Alien". I'm sad that Errol's demise went almost unnoticed and that he went with all the dignity of a plank but I will miss him dearly and am grateful for everything he brought to our little family.