Bruno keeps breaking things, so to teach him their value I have started to tell him they don’t grow on trees.
‘Do you see where the water gun/ plastic toy/ school hat tree is?’ I say, brimming with self-satisfied wisdom.
‘No’, says he, not caring disproportionately given that the supermarket tree is likely to yield a fresh crop anyway.
This week-end when he was cheeky, I aimed for new heights of sanctimony.
‘Most things don’t grow in the garden, but there is, in fact, a Bruno tree.’
‘Yes,’ adds Gethin. ‘It’s got tons of Brunos, and they’re more polite, and better mannered, so I’m going to go and pick one.’
And off he goes.
Sitting on the soft smiling, Bruno says quite serenely, ‘He won’t find another Bruno.’
But he continues to sit there quietly.
A minute passes.
Then another minute.
Finally, he raises his eyebrows, and leans forward ever so slightly to look outside.
This is the best and the worst thing about being a child.