My 3-year-old daughter and I had lunch together today, a lovely affair with mother and daughter chatting and laughing and watching the world go by.
Then a group of 4 teenagers came and sat behind us. Right behind us. Like back to back behind us.
And Mia decides that actually all this chat about what the prince wears when he marries The Little Mermaid pales into insignificance compared with this clutch of 18 or 19-year-olds.
So she stares. No actually, she STARES.
Then she says so loudly that even the shoppers outside the window we are sat next to must surely have heard her, let alone the boys behind: “Mummy, why has that boy got numbers in his head?”
He has a buzz cut with some shapes cut into the sides of his hair.
“I don’t know Mia” I say quietly into my sandwich, willing WILLING her to turn around and stop with the staring.
“Well, ask him mummy. Ask the boy why he’s got silly things on his head.”
I calmly turn her around in her chair, oblivious as to whether the boys are seething or as embarrassed as I am.
Five minutes later they start playing music. It’s some bland rap music and I’m assuming it’s on their mobile phones, but to be honest I’m more preoccupied with the fact that Mia has shot round in her chair again and is practically leering at them again.
“Mummy, why are they playing music?”
Oh boy, why does she talk so LOUDLY?
“I don’t know honey.”
Pause. She looks on for a few seconds more then turns to me, cocks her little head to one side and announces:
“It’s really quite rubbish music though isn’t it?”