Doesn’t matter how much prep you do the night before, there is always something gets lost by the next morning.
You couldn’t accuse my pair of being diplomatic, but either one could have given Donald Rumsfeld’s “Known, Unknowns” speech. “I know I need a pair of socks, but I don’t know where they are”. How?
“How in the name of the God of Socks can you not know where they are? I bought you and your brother, who wears the same size, ten pairs each at the beginning of term, all exactly the same, and now you are telling me we are down to the last lone sock?
How is that even possible, what do you do… sell them?”
So we end up with the Schrödinger’s Sock Paradox, whereby socks both exist and don’t exist at the same time.
I know I bought them and they were taken off in the house, washed and put in the drawer, but the boys have absolutely no idea (or interest) where they could possibly be and deny all knowledge of their existence.
Theoretical physics, as proved by a scientific partnership of a 7 and 9 year old.
Having dispatched the boys to ju jitsu for an hour of legitimate fighting (if they are going to knock seven bells out of each other they might as well do it right) my focus turns to the fur balls; with another nod to Schrödinger, their favourite moggie categorically has to be the one that doesn’t exist.
It is now time for the event of the day, a walk on the beach with the Ginger Ninja and his side kick Rent-a-row.
This provokes much excitement, despite being a daily occurrence, mostly because it’s now time for Ninja’s most favourite thing in the whole wide world, his ball.
Ginger Ninja is an Irish Border Terrierist, with the shy retiring demeanour of, oh I don’t know… Connor McGregor? Standing one and a half feet high in his paws, he has small dog syndrome and feels the need to fight with the biggest dog on the beach, today it was a Great Dane, who just laughed at him. Ginger Ninja, foiled again