I woke early this morning, soaked porridge oats in milk, turning on the hob when I heard the sound of giggles upstairs. Rise and shine.
Minutes later, the seated boy demanded his breakfast. I served it with strawberry jam. It was gone in a flash, football fuel in the tank.
By 9am, my son and an eager bunch of other small people burnt energy off running around a sports hall, occasionally kicking a ball.
Afterwards, an italian cafe’s customers endured three rowdy boys for half an hour (too long) before we descended upon Westow Park, looking for sticks and slides.