I'm home alone tonight. Actually, not quite true. Vanessa's in London, but Jamie and Charlotte are in bed resting up in preparation for keeping me up all night. It's inevitable.
And there is one other absent "friend," so to speak.
His name is Mr Poo.
Yes, Charlotte is in potty training and, to be fair to the girl, the job is already almost half-done. Only a few days in, and her wee is flowing freely. Occasionally down her legs, but normally into her pink pot and we're very happy about that.
But Mr Poo simply does not want to put in an appearance.
We have had one since the weekend, but not in Minnie Mouse. In fact, I caught him in the style of Ian Botham in his slip-fielding pomp as Charlotte shuffled off elsewhere, trousers around her ankles.
One can only hope that, with some patience, we crack Mr Poo before Mr Poo cracks us. But there can be no guarantees.
