Martin was running the bath.
Fiona said, “I need to poo!”, and the upstairs reverberated with her footsteps in the hall.
And then it came. A heart-rending howl of horror and despair from Martin, followed by Fiona’s bitter weeping. And I realised instantly that Fiona’s low spirits had been due to digestive difficulties, and that these problems had suddenly become much worse. And Martin hates that kind of thing.
Those of you, dear readers, who have or have had a three year old know what sort of a scene I walked into in the bathroom upstairs. You need no description.
And those of you who do not know, from bitter experience, do not want to know. Please trust me on this.