Then one evening he gave her a sharp surprise.

I can still recall that note on the bedroom door. Halt. Do not enter. We are alseep Mum. We are fed up with you entering this room at eleven o'clock every night to kiss us both good night ( other son aged 13 - big boy aged 16 ).So went the narrative of the modern day Keats. Almost poetic. And whilst I wanted to burst in and say, gotcha, I thought otherwise. The last few words put me in my place. We want our privacy Mum.

I put my ear to the door and listened. Silence. Fair enough I thought.