Youngest at breakfast today. Very Cross. Seemed to have woken up in Very Bad Mood.
'Not Hungry,' he said, gruffly. 'Not Eating Anyfing.'
Oh, said I. Starving. Tucking into Four Weetabix.
Youngest sits for a while. Arms crossed. Mouth jutting out and Scowling.
'Get me a plate,' he orders his sister, sitting handily next to the plate cupboard.
Daughter ignores him and carries on eating her Cornflakes.
'Get me a bloody plate.' says Youngest.
We all stare at Youngest in Horror.
'What Do You Say?' asks Daughter, haughtily.
'Get Me A Bloody Plate. Please,' says Youngest.
And it's only Day 2 of the holidays.
Roll on, September.