I'm sometimes accused of being a little less serious than I should be, flippant even.
Clearly, should you be a regular reader of this blog, you would regard such slights on my character as harsh and certainly unfair. My middle name is Serious (well, OK, it's not - it's Richard which can be shortened to Dick but let's not dwell on that).
But even at my most mature, I would have struggled to hold myself in check this morning when Vanessa and Jamie welcomed the local mothers and babies group to our house.
They've been going along to this for a couple of months now and, despite initial shyness on Vanessa's part, have enjoyed it.
It wasn't due to be their turn today but, after someone else backed out of hosting this week's gathering, Mrs and Master White stepped into the breach.
They were expecting maybe a dozen mothers and offspring but, in the end, 22 bodies - 10 mums and 12 sprogs - crowded into our living room to do whatever it is they do.
I say that as Vanessa will not tell me what they do, mainly because I really want to know - she's worse than a Mason. And whilst I have no doubt Jamie will tell me in time, he can't talk yet.
I have all sorts of theories, of course, ranging from them lighting joss sticks, playing guitars and banging tambourines to them showing each other fun parts of their bodies (I'm only talking about the mums here). But whatever it is they do, I'll bet it's funny - although it's probably not meant to be.
The one thing I do know is that the mothers can certainly eat chocolate biscuits, having collectively polished off an entire box full today (can't these women not accept they're no longer pregnant?!)
Anyway, whatever it is they did, it certainly left Jamie in fine form when I arrived home tonight.
And I definitely reckon there must be at least one tambourine involved in there somewhere.
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