Breakfast scrap

Family breakfast this morning to celebrate Rosie returning to Manchester. Regular readers will be relieved to know I’ve not blubbed (yet), unlike the first time.  LB is currently obsessed with scrap. This obsession began yesterday evening when his new carer, Kevin, took him bowling in his car.  His old car. LB got in the car, asked Kevin what kind of car it was – a Ford Focus – and why it wasn’t in the scrapyard. [Shudder] Within half an hour of getting back, a scrapyard was set up in his bedroom and the rest of evening, and a lot of the night, was spent dropping buses and lorries from some height. And talking about scrapyards.

So, back to breakfast, before the toast was even out of the toaster;

“What’s a scapyard, Mum?”
“You know what a scrapyard is, LB. Don’t ask me what it is.”
“What’s a scrapyard, Richy?”
“My friend’s sister’s hamster, Scrap, died,” interjected Tom.
“Awww,” we chorused.
“She’s got another one already.”
“Scrap 2?” asked Rosie.
“More Scrap?” I suggested.
“MINI SCRAP!” said LB, unusually animated for him.
“Mini scrap..” Richy chuckled.
“It’s called Squeak,” said Tom.
“What’s mini scrap, Richy?”

A slice of breakfast life

Last Christmas I gave you my heart…
And the man was sectioned. He was ….”
“Your mum was a big Wham fan, Tom.”
“WHAT? No I wasn’t!”
“Shhh LB and eat your porridge. I was not a Wham fan.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
“Stop making it up. So irritating.”
“Me irritating? Living with you is…”
“Dad, I’ve lived with Mum for 12 years now and it’s been pretty good.”
“Aww..thanks Tom. How many years have you lived with me, LB?”
“Dunno, Mum.”
“Think about it LB. How old are you?”
“Seventeen, Mum.”
“So how many years have you lived with me?”
“Dunno, Mum.”
“If you are seventeen years old, how many years have you lived with me?”
“Three, Mum.”