The Football Fanatic came home from a night out during the week at 3.30am. With no thought for anyone stupid enough to be asleep at this hour she shouted up the stairs those oh, so familiar words:
'MUM! Is there anything to eat? I'm STARVING!'
I love my eldest child. I would do anything for her. Anything, that is, except get up and start cooking in the middle of the night. I explained this to her.
Fairly miffed, she said:
'Right. I'll get myself something then.'
Bravely ignoring the ice-cold hand which gripped my heart at the thought of her going into the kitchen I decided to wait and see what happened. Ten minutes later she came clattering into my bedroom carrying a tray.
'I've made myself a bit of a buffet,' she said with childlike glee.
She plonked herself down on my bed and I watched in fascination as she ate:
1 sausage sandwich
3 slices of ham
1 chicken drumstick
half a large tub of coleslaw
1 packet of ready salted crisps
1 raspberry yoghurt
and 1 can of Pepsi Max
while telling me who did, who didn't and who said what to who
during the course of the evening.
Finally, she went to bed. As we both have to get up at 5am so she can go to work, this left us with...oh...a good hour's sleep each. I went into her bedroom at the appointed time, somewhat bleary-eyed, to make sure she was awake, to find her applying mascara with one hand and straightening her hair with the other.
'Oh, good,' I said 'You're up.'
'Course I am,' she replied brightly. 'Is there anything to eat? I'm starving'.