Onesie and polar bear


This cold January has given Eliza plenty of opportunity to sport two of her Christmas presents. From bath time until after breakfast the next day, she’s enveloped in her pink, downy onesie. From its shaped feet with non-slip soles to its hood with dainty ears she looks like a benign Max from ‘Where the Wild Things Are’.

Outside, Eliza wears her hat-scarf-gloves combo shaped as the head, front legs and paws of a polar bear. And it’s the wild predator’s paw that I get to hold on the walk to school while this wintry weather persists.


We watched a plane fly overhead as we walked to school, discussing where it was going. Portugal, Robin thought. Then he mumbled something that at second hearing I understood to be that he didn’t like going to the toilet on a plane. A few steps later he stopped me, beckoned me to stoop to hear him whisper: where does the poo and wee from a plane’s toilet go? I said I thought it was emptied when the plane landed. Robin was relieved: he didn’t want wee landing in his hair.

Later that day, he told L that he had done a ballet dance in the playground toilet for his friend A, who had wanted to see ballet. A had given him 10 for the performance.


Reclined on a bean-bag, control in hand, chunky, old-fashioned portable TV in front, Gabe is in some idyllic state in his room. Each day he uses his PS3 allowance, almost exclusively on FIFA13. He’s absorbed by the manager mode, buying and selling players, trying to lift his side up the table. But still wanting an audience when he’s scored a particularly skilful goal in the match mode.


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