The last week or so has been a microcosm of the stress, hilarity and farce which is the parenting game.

We had Tallulah back staying at the Sick Kids for a while with another infection which impacted upon her breathing. As ever, staying over in the hospital means contending with all those in the same boat; inevitably what could best be described as a ‘mixed bag’. Sleep is a skill swiftly lost with the wailing of poorly children, and constant beeping of machines. As ever, though, the staff are exemplary, and the fact that we knew the doctor means additional reassurance. After 3 days and 2 nights we returned home for TLC and monitoring to ensure no swift return if possible.

The following evening, though, matters could have gone better. Oran and Mummy were helping to make a cake and help distract Lula from her recent travails. Sadly, this entailed her licking the spoon of the cake mix, and for the first time ever being sensitised to eggs manifesting as a full blown allergy. Cue rapidly swelling lips and face, and a lightly panicked trip back to see the self-same hospital staff.

Mercifully all was to the good, and the antics of both children (including sick bucket as hat based hilarity) meant that we were home the same night, exhausted but suitably relieved.

Last night, though, Oran and I ran into the supermarket while Mummy waited with a sleeping Tallulah. Boy wonder had kindly offered to help me carry the milk we needed, but it became clear swiftly that this was thinly veiled subterfuge.

A triple pack of Transformers Bot Shots negotiated, his joy led to hearty singing in the aisles, which led to much amusement for a member of staff and passing shoppers for some minutes to follow. Save for his questionable choice of song, there was a surprising revelation to follow, which I sincerely hope was inaccurate. After a few impassioned renditions of the chorus, he casually dropped ‘Daddy, I made this song up.’ I did try and delicately point out that I was pretty sure it was the questionable highlight of the pop career of a flame haired Aussie chanteuse long before he joined us. If the boy is right, though, it seems that the artist owes him a huge debt, while the rest of us may have a bone to pick with him. My son is apparently the evil mastermind behind the ubiquitous ‘Just a Little Bit’ by Gina G. I can only apologise.