Escapology

A cunning plan has been executed. Wednesday morning two little boys called down from the bannisters above, "Hello Mummy!" Two little boys whose last known whereabouts was tucked up in their beds in the cosy little room they share above my sister's garage. Two little boys, who at thirty and fourteen months of age, aren't supposed to be able to get themselves up in the morning and casually make their way down to join their Mummy and elder siblings. The looks of delight on their little faces made it clear they knew this, and were quite proud of their achievement.

But how did they escape? They weren't talking. One can't anyway. The elder and probably chief conspirator would only say of baby Jacob's escape, "Goggy fell off". When asked how he, Andrew, got out of his crib, the answer was "I don't know." I think Andrew reached through Jacob's bars and hefted the little guy up over the side of the crib and he tumbled down onto something soft, namely Andrew. Andrew's route to freedom is more of a puzzle. Yesterday morning, they were retrieved by my sister. Jacob had caught his leg between the bars of his crib (another escape attempt gone wrong?) and as my sister held him to sooth his, albeit mild, distress, Andrew got anxious and demanded, "My turn to get up!" No way was he going to climb out and reveal his tactics.

Bruges

I've been to Belgium this weekend. Beautiful weather, hot frites, delicious ice cream and great company. The main square was throned with people enjoying blue skies and the kind of wonderfully ornate buildings we just don't have on this side of le channel.

It was about 24 years ago in this place that I discovered people in the know ate their fries with mayonnaise. Even as a kid I was obsessed with good food. I've never looked back.