Calling a Spade, a Spade..

Something has happened to The Husband.

Halfway through our annual two week holiday in Devon, he turned into Mr. Lovely. One night he went to sleep, his usual romantically-challenged self, and woke up a New Man. Thoughtful, caring, affectionate, verging on the chivalrous... Scary stuff. Was it the sea air? We have been back for two days and he is still being incredibly nice. Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining. I'm just quite baffled.

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I have always been quite mean about the kids having pets - four boys is quite enough work, thank you, without adding to the domestic chaos with a furry friend, but when Number Three caught a crab and brought him home in a bucket, I was prepared to accommodate the new family member. How much trouble could a small crustacean be? Quite a lot as it happens. We called him Colin and fed him bits of bacon and he lived on a shelf in the storeroom. Just 24 hours later, he turned up his pincers and went to rest eternally in the great rock-pool in the sky. Number 3 was devastated. The Husband threw Colin in the dustbin when the children were asleep and we hoped he might be forgotten.

Some days later, we dragged the children around a beautiful old cemetery.
"What's under there?" asked Number 2, pointing to a particularly rounded grave.
Are they too young to understand the concept of death? Probably, but encouraged that I had the example of the erstwhile Colin to draw on, I attempted an explanation.
"When people die, we lay them in the ground so they can rest peacefully forever," I said.
The boys looked horrified.
"Because they are naughty?" asked Number 3.
"No darling, because they are dead."
"Like Colin?"
"Like Colin."

Back in Oxfordshire, over tea, Number 3 pipes up:
"When you get married you have to go in the ground forever."

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Has The Husband found a shovel?...