That Time My Daughter Wouldn't Stop Drawing Coffins

rip sweet prinsess ur in heven wiv da angles xx

My daughter is now twenty years old, a proper grown-up doing proper grown-up things in Winchester. So I hope she doesn't mind me mentioning this.

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It is 1998. Girl Power grips the nation, and I have already seen Spice World: The Movie 372 times. The reason is simple - I have a precocious four-year-old daughter who loves Sporty Spice, and kicks me in the shins on a regular basis to show me how sporty she is.

She also drew coffins a lot.

"That's Princess Diana, that is," she said presenting us with a picture of a coffin, "She's going to sit up in a minute."

Then she drew one at her pre-school. We were called in.

"Is everything alright at home?" a concerned-looking teacher asks.

"Yes. Why shouldn't it be?"

"Have somebody died recently?"

No. Nobody has died.

"You see, she keeps drawing coffins."

And, by way of illustration, the teacher pulls out a picture of a coffin. It is exquisitely drawn in three dimensions, with handles, wood grain and flowers on the top. I am impressed, and say so, mainly because the quality of her coffin work has come on leaps and bounds since the first crudely-drawn box in the wake of the funeral.

The teacher is less than impressed, and wonders aloud what has driven her to such a pass.

"She's going to sit up in a minute," says Hazel, less than helpfully.

We make our excuses and leave.

"Weird parents," the teacher writes in her notebook.