After swimming this afternoon Bruno goes to the play area, where you have to take off your shoes. When it’s time to put them back on, he can’t find them.
‘Stop whinging and go and find them,’ I say in a motherly fashion.
And he comes back to tell me they’re still not there.
So I huff and I puff and I go to have a look and all the other kids have gone home and there’s only one pair left. They are the same style as Bruno’s but have a different name in them.
So I trundle to Reception and ask them who this bloody ‘x’ family is and they smirk a bit and pick up the phone and call the bloody ‘x’ family and leave my mobile phone number on an answerphone message.
And off I strop home with Bruno mithering about having to wear some other kid’s shoes.
Then a little later I pick up a message from the careless ‘x’ family mother bint; she’s saying sorry about the shoes and she’s sounding quite nice and quite normal and I’m thinking I recognise her voice.
Then I start to picture who she is at the club and slowly it dawns on me that ‘x’ family is none other than ‘X’ FAMILY, at the helm of which is a fairly well-known writer and broadcaster!
‘Bloody hell!’ I shout through the house. ‘Bruno’s got the shoes of a fairly well-known writer and broadcaster’s son! I may have to go to his house and pick them up and everything!’
So I rush to the phone and dial up the careless ‘x’ family mother bint (who is actually just a zany, crazy kind of careless mother in light of this new information) and we have a whole, brilliant conversation.
And she’s normal and funny and says she’s half-pissed and I just love her for ignoring her son complaining he had the wrong shoes and, yes, of course it’s no trouble for me to drive around and retrieve them!
‘OhmyGod! OhmyGod!’, I yell through the house after hanging up. ‘I have to actually go around there and pick them up! I can’t believe it!’
So I frisbee Rufus into his cot, mouth still open hoping to finish his night-time feed, and rifle through my make-up bag to find my concealer and- oh, why the hell not?!- the merest waft of perfume.
And I run down the stairs a-flutter with excitement, wittering about how funny things turn out and how maybe this is how it all begins and perhaps I could get Bruno to ‘accidentally steal’ someone famous else’s kids’ shoes and we could all just start hanging out together.
And I joke, ‘Don’t wait up!’ as I dash out the door and I jump in the car and turn the music up really loud and speed on two wheels around the corner, to the house of the fairly well-known writer and broadcaster.
And I get to the house and it’s big and lovely and everything I’d hope for. I’ve arrived! I think. In so many senses!
So I rap on the door and my heart’s in my mouth and there’s a killing wait and then I see through the window, It’s him! It’s him! He’s the one who’s going to answer the door!
Fairly well-known writer and broadcaster: Hello.
Fairly well-known writer and broadcaster: Well?
Me: Well what?!!!!
Fairly well-known writer and broadcaster: Have you got them?
Me: Have I got what?!!!!
Fairly well-known writer and broadcaster: The shoes.