The scene: Lenin House, this morning.
Admid the hustle and bustle of trying of getting dressed, breakfast, trying to locate the cat so we can put her outside I hear a small voice coming from the toilet.
Go in, to discover a series of ominous brown strains near the toilet roll holder.
"Please tell me that's chocolate, Boy."
"No. It's poo."
Is eight o'clock in the morning too early to start drinking?