The one thing myself and Verity enjoy is a good stroll around the block. During our walks we looks at plants and keep an eye out for any cats that might cross our paths, prime for stroking. Sometimes a leaf is plucked for further investigation and possible rubbing with paper and crayons back home.

On our new route we noticed one house painted bright yellow and obviously inhabited by an Arsenal fan. Verity has taken to calling this house “The Balamory House”.

Unfortunately, I made the grave mistake of forgetting to ask V if she needed the toilet before our walk and halfway around she makes the announcement that every unprepared parent dreads to hear – “I want a wee!”. Of course, this is exclaimed at the equidistant point of no return. We shuffle onwards, I appeal to her to pick up the pace.

Everything is going well until we come to overtake an elderly gentleman. He turns around and looks concerned as Verity, in a high-pitched voice tinged with alarm, cries “Help me, help me, help me!”

So what kind of picture was painted? A large unshaven fellow seen dragging a distressed 3-year-old girl along the main road, while she cries for help to those who pass.

I feel grateful that I am sitting here typing this rather than being buggered into oblivion on the Nonce Wing at HMP Crowmarsh.

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