“I try not to look about at the unspeakable chaos”

WHEN I say ‘walkies’ to my old dog, she stretches, resettles her limbs and raises her eyelids for a moment to shoot me a look, which says ‘surely, surely to god you’re joking?’

It’s this same look that daughter No 1 is giving me right now. I’ve opened her bedroom door a tentative two inches and said, “morning love, time to get up.” After throwing me the look, she closes her eyes. She lies there stock still; I think the look has taken it out of her. “What time is it?” She asks. “One-thirty,” I say. ‘Pm.’

She stretches, opens one eye, fixes it on me.