I love it when my children smell like soap.
In the shower, where I do all of my best thinking, it dawned on me that once only the very rich smelt of soap. Everyone else smelt of grimy life – skin flakes and sex and sour milk.
I really must get a set of washable crayons to make notes in the shower. I’m such a slattern, perhaps it would motivate me to clean the tiles more often if they were graffitied with half-baked plots.