The incomparable and also local onionbagblog took his primary school charges to the dance studio (to be observed in a natural habitat by the architects designing the new playground ... ? ) this week:

"Swings and Roundabouts

A short coach ride back to the ranch and I was counting my blessings on the chunder front. A full day and no sign of the sick bags being used. The two usual puking princesses were strapped in safely at the front of the coach, sick bags bolted to their mouths like horse feeding bags.

I was sitting next to one of the more mature ten year-old who wanted to share with me her Tracy Beaker magazine. I would have preferred my copy of Private Eye but she told me I was 'more boring than her dad.' And believe me, that's going some.

The quality of journalism on offer wasn't that great, but that's still no reason to retch up her Ribena all over my chinos. The stains from last summer were only just starting to wash out as well."

Fear of the cockerney swear-count compels me to warn you that this is an eighth of the fantastic account posted. Suffice to say, if you 're not as amused by little boys who say "titties" as I am, don't click the link.