PROXIMITY MAN

"Nice dog," I observed as we swung into a parking space. "What is it, Spaniel or something?"

“Labradoodle," came the correction from the dog experts in the back.

"Oh. Nice though."

The dog was emptying itself from the car in front of ours, controlled by the smallest and palest of three children who, in turn, were controlled by a couple who looked like they too were on the way back from a relaxing self-catering holiday in an idyllic corner of Scotland, i.e. tense and irritable.

EVEL EYE-PAD

I remember the night in 1976 when it came to a head. We were out on our bikes when dad came home and I was called in. I knew I was in deep trouble. As usual it was Dad's job to mete out the punishment. But first, the crime: 

“He’s been out all day playing with his friends,” Mum began. “He hasn’t touched that Eye-Pad once, or been anywhere near the couch. I told him after his lunch to go and lock himself in his bedroom in a sultry and withdrawn manner, but he wasn’t having any of it. Next time I look, there they all are outside again, running around in the sunshine."