I really need to be more attentive. This morning I thought 'where's Charles?' he was here a minute ago. Where is that little toddler guy? He's normally around here somewhere.
I found fore mentioned toddler in a corner of the living room gnawing his way through a slab of Parmesan he'd sneakily got from the fridge (which he regularly goes to, opens up the door and stares into, like the insatiable ravenous teenage boy he'll no-doubt become).
So there he is. He'd also randomly took off his top so was sat there in his little vest, his ripped jeans (that are balancing that fine line between chic and cheap) munching away. Initially I tried taking some solace in the fact that it could have been worse. It wasn't cheese strings (which in fact we did have and he'd literally moved out of the way for the expensive French stuff), it wasn't crisps or chocolate or sweets. No it was Parmesan. I couldn't stand that until I was at least 18 so, at the very least he's a classy-palated feral child.
Perhaps working is a false economy whilst he's around. Whilst I'm pitching away, trying my darnedest to earn a crust, he's in the fridge, crust-snubbing, sniffing like one of those posh pigs for truffles.