An uneventful morning, briefly punctuated for me by the obligatory visit to Waitrose. It was rammed. Every aisle was filled with Brighton's middle classes, panic-buying legs of lamb, hot cross buns and over-priced tulips.
In the afternoon, Team Wayne trotted over to the house of one of the families we know through NCT. The boy was not the best company; his teeth are driving him mad. Fortunately, his little buddy, Lenny, was sporting matching flushed cheeks, slight rash and commitment to Calpol. Dexter did manage to inhale a couple of Dairy-Lee sandwiches, but spent much of the time face down on the floor or trying to clamber up the legs of the husband or me.
Snacks over, the grown-ups got round to the serious business of booking a summer holiday in France. It's exciting to actually have it in the diary. It will also be the prompt I need to get the boy's passport sorted. I will probably have to pay some over-inflated price to get the pictures done professionally as I don't fancy my chances of getting Dexter to balance/sit still on a swivel stool whilst I remain out of sight behind a curtain.
We were home by nine o'clock in the evening. Dexter fell asleep on the way home and remained asleep as we changed him into his pyjamas and put him to bed. It's a shame he has passed the one year mark, as at less than twelve months, they don't have to have their eyes open on children's passport photographs. Now that would be a doddle.