Keep Out Of The Reach Of Children

The worst thing about living where I do now is a too-abrupt transition between my world (inside) and the world (outside). At Mayfield Gardens, I would have a garden path to walk down, and a succession of increasingly busy roads to negotiate before hitting the town. Here I step out right onto the pavement with all the drunks and mad people. It's too soon, I'm screaming in my head. It's a wonder I ever leave the house.

On the other hand, it's handy for the pubs and the curry house. Not that I go very often. Last time I went to the curry house it wasn't after a hard night's drinking. It was at six, and that was because the kids were there. Not that it was any less rowdy - quite the reverse.

I found myself down the end of the table where all the action was: Nicki had brought some rubber balls that lit up when thrown at the floor, so these were distributed into the eager hands of young Christopher, younger Sam and even younger Nicholas, and things really got rolling, until Vicki felt it necessary to call out: 'Everyone hold onto your balls!' In case that wasn't enough to occupy them, an i-pad was then produced, but instead of exerting a hypnotic spell over the children it soon became just something else to squabble over.

Although there were only three children, they seemed to create a commotion that was much larger than themselves. 'I'm going to do a poo!', thundered Sam with all the gravitas of the CEO of a multinational corporation, as he disappeared under the table for the thousandth time; while Nicholas, eager to claim his share of his brother Christopher's chair, invested the phrase 'budge up' with an anguished intensity it was never really meant to accommodate. Though once there he only contemplated the i-pad with a frown of statesmanlike self-importance, as if he was watching all twenty-six episodes of The World At War instead of whatever it was. Cars.

Then the power rangers came out. (One of them is called Kevin. You wouldn't expect that, would you?) And somewhere in the midst of all this a curry was ordered and eaten.

Then Christopher 'fired me' with a device which was meant to make me 'freeze'. 'I don't think it's working', I suggested, when I continued to move freely, but he only turned it on his Dad, who did obligingly cease to move for a moment. 'Maybe it's the angle', I improvised, but by then something else of life-changing importance had occurred to him.

By the end of it all, I imagine that the curry house staff were looking forward to the inevitable invasion of beered-up Essex boys and girls, figuring that it would come as a relief. And I don't want you to think that these are badly-behaved children. As I understand it, this is normal. That's the hell of it.

I went to the pub with Ross and Christine, who haven't yet caught the 'child' virus, though it's only a matter of time. I don't imagine Ross having noisy kids though - more brooding silent ones like the two little girls in The Shining. I think he's planning to keep them in some kind of cupboard.