|Such a sweet boy|
The little princes Boys One and Two, were relaxing on the sofa - after a hard day at the Promethean board face of learning. This fact was getting on the wick of the Empress who had also been working all day. She was thinking about which tasks to put on the Housework Half Hour list of the day.
Boy Three, who, as you know, is a sweet and innocent child was playing nicely at the tap in the bathroom. "Wash hands," he cries and clambers onto the loo seat to splish in the running water.
According to the ancient and largely disregarded laws of healthy eating the mince had been cooked in water first (really it works) and the Empress was frying onions.
"All wet," said Boy Three from the top of the stairs. "All wet, all wet."
"Not surprising," grumbled the Empress who had heard this cry many times, and knew it to describe the merest drop of spilt milk.
Leaving the onions on a low heat, she nipped up to reassure Boy Three that there was nothing to worry about. Indeed he wasn't really a fastidious creature, it was usually comment by way of conversation.
But all wet indeed. The plug was in had been for some time. Water was now lapping over the wooden lip that separates tiled bathroom from carpeted landing. Carpeted landing that now squelched.
"Plash puddles," yelled Boy Three gleefully in the moments his mother was frozen in indecision.
Amid the cavorting of Boy Three, the Empress frantically mopped and wrung working up quite a sweat.
"Mum, there's a funny smell in the kitchen," warbled Boy Two from the bottom of the stairs.
Later after cooking a second lot of onions, the meal was prepared.
"Why's it all wet in here?" asked Boy One. "Look it's dripping though this light. And this one."
"I know," muttered the Empress in that low tone that made the Boys wary.
"Raining, raining," said Boy Three as he skidded to the dining table.