DAUGHTER: You took ages to get home today, Mum. Where did you go for your run?
ME: Dunno… I felt .. I just gotta get outta this place
SON: The Animals! I’m learning that on my guitar!
DAUGHTER: Well, it took forever. Let’s plot it on ‘Map My Run’ (she twiddles on the laptop) Oooh – that’s more than a half-marathon! A HALF MARATHON! (Somewhat patronisingly) Aren’t you proud of yourself?
ME: No. I wanted to stay out longer but I headed back, when I started wondering if your dad would remember to feed you before he went to work.
SON: I’d clap on the doorstep for you, Mum, but I’m too weak. I’ve gone without breakfast.
ME: So, he didn’t feed you. Or at least remind you where we hide the Chocolate Weetos at night time.
DAUGHTER: He’s a key worker! He doesn’t have to think about feeding his own children! He’s a local hero!
ME: Look, I can’t cope with all of this sarcasm so early on… I’m on a blood sugar low.
SON: (To his sister) This is why Mum will never be a Local Hero. She’s such a tomato.
DAUGHTER: Yer wot?
SON: “She’s such a … tom-art-er” that’s what Dad always says.
DAUGHTER: Er …. no. He’s saying ‘martyr’. Jeez. Get a dictionary why don’t ‘cha?