Storm in a teacup.

Beeep Beeep Beeep. 'Oh that's the smoke ala....'

Whoops, the toaster has cremated the toast and the kitchen is filling up with smoke. I can't see the ceiling and clouds of smoke are swirling out of both doors. Husband storms off to sort out the alarm. Burnt toast sends him into a rage which is always out of proportion to the deed! I open the kitchen windows and the conservatory door in order to waft it out. The alarm stops. The smoke is still filling the kitchen and I realise the toast is still cooking. I fish it out of the toaster and dip the glowing bits into the sink full of water. Small Sprog and I are laughing at the amount of total destruction a few bits of burning toast can make. We feel our way back into the conservatory to eat our breakfast! Small Sprog has peanut butter on toast (perfectly browned!). He ladles it on and spreads it thickly. 'I'm glad I have my jumper on' he says cheerfully as a nippy morning breeze meets the smoke halfway and seems to send it all back in again.

I am halfway through a jar of ginger marmalade (my favourite, often eaten from a spoon, straight from the jar!). 'I wonder where Daddy has got to?' I ask him as we merrily munch in the clearing mist.

At that moment Husband blusters into the kitchen. 'Bloody smoke!'

'I was wondering where you were' I soothed.

'Where did you think I was?'

'Well you've been gone a long time'

'I've been opening ALL the windows' he replies, in a voice which intimates that he had done it all on his own with no help from us and now we were asking stupid questions and enjoying our toast when his was lying cold and untouched! 'And some windows were still locked from when we went away!' (Now he knows how I feel)

'I thought you were in the toilet!'

He just looks at me in a 'I can't believe you can be so stupid' sort of way.

'It's only a bit of smoke' I say, feeling a bit miffed now.

Small Sprog is kicking his feet under the table and humming a tune. After a while I can make out the words and stifle a giggle. He is singing a song from Joseph and his Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat. He has changed the words slightly;

'Poor poor Daddy what you gonna do, things look bad for you Dad, what you gonna do?'!!!

PS. He is not missing his sister! Not one bit!!