Hi Ewan here.

Grandad says there’s no rest for the wicked. I really must be ultra, ultra wicked. Wow isn’t that wicked!

I have been so busy for…for which seems like all of my life. But it has escalated this week.

Take Tuesday as a typical example.

My over commitment life mean I only do half a day at nursery on a Tuesday. Therefore I have to try and pack a full day – 7.30am to 5.30pm (10 hours) into 5½ hours. It just tires me out because I have to do in that 5½ hours what I do in 10 hours on a normal day. After all, there’s nobody to do it for me.

The reason for my short day is the community service I have been compelled to perform. I am forced to look after the grandparents, on my mum’s side, not my dad’s they are more than capable of looking after themselves, but not mum’s family.

Why didn’t my dad sum that up before he married my Mum? He’s ended up making a rod for both of our backs and Brother Rory’s too.

I wander. So, back to the subject in question. On Tuesday, I did all my normal chores at nursery that are expected of me: eat breakfast, find a toy to carry round with me all day.

I’m wandering here again but it is important to tell you that selecting the Toy of the Day is a most important and precise science. I have to work out what is the most prestigious, most wanted toy in the nursery and then cling to it all day, fighting off any child that tries to rob me of it. This is so important if I, like the Lion King, want to stay Leader of the Pack. The decision is not an easy one to make as the nursery have lots of excellent, highly desirable toys. I have to make sure I am gender neutral too, so sometimes it means the toy is a doll or a dolls pram or buggy.

I also have to have breakfast. If I let it, that would pass quietly by, so it’s left to me to come up with a focus point. Like dramatically pushing my dish away and throwing myself on the floor, if, say, another child even accidentally touches my dish. Coo, it’s not easy being 2½ years old, all these things that are expected of you.

Then, we have “Potty Training”. Why do they call it that and not “Bonkers Training”.

So what happens in “Potty Training”? There are these pottys like we have at home, all lined up, one for each child. You’ll laugh at this (I hope) but at first I thought it was a novel way to play musical chairs. But no there was definitely one for each of us. Our nappies are taken off and we have to sit on the potty. A bit like sitting on  the naughty step but without a nappy and without me being naughty first  and without a step.

The training is a matter of seeing how long you can sit there until you become bored and just have to get off and move around or you will go mad. Sometimes I sit there until I wee. I try so hard to hold it because Mum gets annoyed if you do it without your nappy on. But it is funny to watch your wee coming out. Our carers are dead chuffed when that happens. They need to get a life, don’t they, it’s only water. One time I even did a poo. Only a bit. But I tried to tell them it was coming and I needed a nappy but they didn’t do anything, so serves them right if they had to clear it up.

Next we had Bake Off. Yes, We baked a cake each. We all helped mix it. Now, cake mixture is really playdoh but they stopped me playing with it like that but I did manage to get my hands covered and get some on my nose. Grandad would have loved it.

They wouldn’t let me keep hold of my cake they put it in this oven! Boy, did I protest. Can you believe it? I thought I’ll never see my masterpiece again. And it’s mixed up with everyone else’s. All my effort wasted.

We then had a secret mission. We had to swear an oath of secrecy to tell no one about some special Christmas creations we had to work on. So I can’t tell you about them, you will have to wait untill you see what I’m wearing on my head at Christmas.

In the end we were finally reunited with our cakes but they did not announce the winner today. You see our Bake Off presenters are true professionals and don’t go blabbing the winner on Twitter. That’s why not even I know who won our Bake Off yet.

Then Mamma came to pick me up. “You’re not here already, are you, Mamma?” I said which came out “Mamma!”

As she put my coat on she tried to take my prized cake from my hand. But I know what she’s like, I’d never see it again. I clung to it tightly. Outside Grandad was waiting with the buggy. They both tried to extract the cake from my hand using the excuse of putting me in my buggy. I am long in the tooth I’ve experienced these two working together before. Out of my hand, that cake would be in Grandad’s tummy in a jiffy. I clung on, tightly.

They gave in and we headed for home, me tightly clutching my cake.

But disaster struck. I had had such a busy morning I dozed off to sleep. I woke up in the buggy in Mamma and Grandad’s kitchen. Disaster! My cake was gone!

I screamed and screamed and screamed. I knew what had happened, those crafty buggers had prised the cake from my hand and Grandad had eaten it and washed it down with a cup of tea.

I stopped screaming for a sharp intake of breath and noticed my cake on the work surface of the kitchen. Mamma nonchalantly handed it to me as if butter would not melt in her mouth. Bitch!

Well all is well I thought as I clutched my beloved cake in my cupped hand. But it wasn’t the shock of waking up without my cake scarred a poor little innocent character like me.

So the day progressed. I was left traumatised by the incident and I was also a little  hedge because it was Parents Open Evening that night at nursery. I was racked with nerves. I could not rest.

Me and brother Rory was left to entertain Mamma and Grandad whilst Mum and Dad visited the nursery. I tried to escape and run away from home a couple of times because I could not face Mum and Dad’s wrath when they returned. If it was only Grandad I would have made it but Mamma takes after me and is too sharp.

I tried watching a little TV to settle my nerves and take my mind off it, but old Darby and Joan could not make the TV work properly as usual.  There was no sound! They are hopeless with modern technology. But they just will not accept help. I tried to get the TV remote and they spitefully placed it somewhere high where I can’t reach it. So I started to press the buttons on the TV and DVD player but they stopprd me.

So no TV. That wound me and Brother Rory up so much.

Thankfully Mum and Dad quickly returned and the TV was restored to its full glory.

Fortunately the nursery were very pleased with my progress, I wouldn’t have expected them to say anything other though, after all I set out to be a model two year old.

They did have one complaint, though, they told Mum and Dad I was stubborn! Can you believe that?

How very dare they? I am anything but stubborn.

I demanded that they take back their words as they were totally untrue.

I voluntarily took myself to the naughty step and decided to sit there in protest until the nursery withdrew the remark and apologised.

Unfortunately they didn’t and I fell asleep on the Naughty Step but I was determined to stand my ground until they retracted such a ridiculous untrue statement. Dad eventually had to lift me from the Naughty Step and carry me to bed.

Busy Bee