On life not being entirely fair
Way back in the 1990s, and being the proud new father, I took the baby Scaryduckling into work to say hello to my colleagues.
I sat her down on the console in the studio so she could watch the TV screens and blinking lights, but soon her look of awe changed into a completely different expression altogether.
Her face screwed up into a little ball, and it became apparant that the little lady was doing a poo on tens of thousands of pounds worth of very expensive gear, much to the amusement of my workmates.
No damage done, but I whisked the smelly little parcel away and she never went into my place of work EVER AGAIN.
And now, fifteen years on, my little baby has grown into a confident young woman starting off in her first paying job in a shop in Weymouth.
But should I walk in there and done a poo of the counter, instead of the hearty laughter of her colleagues, I'd almost certainly end up with an ASBO.
Where - I ask - is the justice?