It was all going well; we arrived, unpacked, went out to post a letter for our hosts, made the requisite stop at West London's top gelataria for the Boys to indulge in a little taste of heaven and for me to cadge the odd spoonful whenever their backs were turned (no, no, none for me thanks; I'll just steal my children's ice-cream instead), before returning to the flat for dinner and a bath.
And then? Well, then it was time for the Boys to go to bed. They are sleeping in the bunks belonging to the gorgeous children who live in this flat. It must be said, I had a moment's disquiet when I realised that one of the bunks was sporting blue bedlinen and the other pink, but luckily the latter was destined for Boy #1 and he's quite grown-up and sporting about stuff like that these days.
Or at least, he was. Until he pulled back the duvet, about to climb in, only to discover that the little girl who had slept under it the night before had liberally coated herself - and the sheets - with glitter-ised moisturising lotion...*
