My grandson turned three last week. His mum blew up balloons and laid on a sumptuous spread of artificial colourings, preservatives, thickeners, acidity regulators, stabilisers, emulsifiers, flavour enhancers, silicates, stearates, sweeteners, anti-caking agents, gelling agents, paraffins and waxes. We stood lovingly to one side while he, his four brothers and sisters, and an assortment of neighbouring hag-ridden young mums and their sullen kids dived in. The Mayan Diet, observed a wit. Eat as much sugary crap as you want because the world is ending next week.
The naughtiest boy present was my grandson’s cousin, name of Landen. Landen is a speechless, painfully thin, malevolent little boy who has spent more time than most kids of his age being hidden in cupboards from social workers. He is regularly sent home from school for biting. Recently, he was awarded a gold star at school for not biting the teacher or any of his classmates for three days on the trot.
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