SP came home with a surprise the other day. A child.
Naturally, I was ecstatic. After all, we'd got nothing in for dinner, so at least we wouldn't have to fork out for a suspect take-away. I started pulling out the largest roasting dish from the back of the cupboard but SP stopped me.
"It's not to eat" he said. "You'll upset the neighbour if you do."
"Oh, she won't mind" I said, chopping an onion and some broccoli to go with the kid.
"Yes she will. He's her child!"
"Oh" I said. "Oh, bugger."
It turned out the neighbour's other child had injured herself by pulling a drawer off its runners and onto her foot. SP had just left our house to take Moom for a walk when the neighbour had careered out of her house to rush her daughter to hospital and, finding a willing 'sitter practically on her doorstep, thrust her son upon SP and drove off.
I decided I'd much rather cook dinner (we had stew with mashed potatoes and broccoli in the end) than entertain a minor, so