Little Boy, Realtor

The Little Boy Next Door graciously accepts my invitation to visit and explores the cottage, room by room, with me trailing behind to answer questions. We discuss what should be in each cake tin in the kitchen and peep inside the fridge to admire the yellow tomatoes. In the dining room we inspect the map on the wall and work out where his school is - he has been there for three weeks now. Upstairs in our bedroom each of the cupboards is opened and approved, the advantages of shelves and rails compared and contrasted. The 'secret bathroom' (en suite) is investigated and the taps in the basin tested. My collection of limited edition animal pictures does not have the wow factor that I hoped for but the rubber duck in the bath is much admired. He informs me that the best view is not, as I had previously thought, the Dartmoor tors on the horizon but the window through which we can see his car because we can even see his car seat. MrM puts down the weekend papers to have a man-to-man conversation about mobile phones and show off his compass app. Finally we have a detailed conversation about where the Christmas tree should go. The Little Boy says that his daddy puts it where the CD rack is but as we do not have a CD rack he would suggest the fireplace - the logic of this is indisputable but I explain that it can't go in the fireplace because MasterM will be very disappointed if the tree doesn't touch the ceiling. He shrugs his four year old shoulders, disclaiming responsibility for such irrational behaviour, and goes back Next Door with some yellow tomatoes for his tea.