Day 2 was spent deepening my already pretty deep respect for teachers. Although to be fair I’m pretty sure that most teachers when showing a 10 year old how to round to one decimal place, are not having to first wait for the dog to finish licking their student’s foot.

I used the waiting time to check on my 13 year old. I approached her room with a certain amount of trepidation. This was validated when I found her attending her online French lesson from underneath her desk, where she had constructed a shelter for the sodding cat, complete with half her carefully-ironed-by-me wardrobe as ‘bedding’.

She had also taken his food and water bowls. The fact that I had spent 35 minutes the previous evening looking for them (convinced I had put them out earlier in the day), and trying my best not to add ‘early-onset dementia’ to my ever-increasing fear list, was apparently of no consequence to her.

Meanwhile my husband was working very hard from home in what is, essentially, the cupboard under the stairs. He says he’s like Harry Potter but without the scar. In the interests of realism though, the scar could be arranged.

At lunchtime they were happily if not quietly entertaining themselves by making ‘L’ for ‘Loser’ signs out of their sandwich crusts and holding them up to their foreheads whenever the other one supposedly said something mean, which was approximately every tenth of a second. I asked if they behaved like this at school and they looked at me in horror and said of course not, but it was different at home because I didn’t count. So I spent the rest of the afternoon basking in the warmth of my children’s obvious love and respect for me.

Finally, just before bed, my youngest cheerfully suggested a trip to the cinema this weekend. After being reminded of the facts, she got upset and declared Coronavirus to be ‘a big chubby bum hole with poo in it’. At least, I think she meant the virus – my husband had just walked past, and if the cap fits…

Bring on Bedtime!