Mg's of Valium: 0

Playlist: Feeder (The Singles)

Last night while being a bad mother, Boychild found Spouse's clippers and, well, you can imagine... He had etched out a kind of Mohawk on the side of his head. There was nothing for it but to give him a very short crew cut. He retired silently to his room once the procedure was over and contemplated himself in a mirror for a while. I knew it was only a matter of time before the tears and protestations started.

I remonstrated, telling him that he looks like a soldier, while inwardly facing the fact that he has the distinct look of a Romanian orphan about him. Spouse suggested that we get his ears pierced, buy him a hoodie and go for the "Laner Look". Burnthouse Lane in my city is a central location for our punters, and this particular class of criminal are referred to locally as the Laners. It's the closest thing to the hood we have in the middle class, largely Caucasian cathedral city of the west. When the Local Authority chose the name for the street the residents really didn't have a chance. They may as well have called it crime central. Perhaps the collective name for a group of young offenders should be laner: a pride of lions, and a laner of crims. I wonder if giving a street a particular name can induce it's residents to turn to a life of crime in a self-fulfilling prophecy sort of a way. It probably has more to do with the substandard housing and lack of pro-social activities, and the drugs of course.

Back to Boychild. His black eye has pretty much faded away. I'm not sure if his teacher could have coped with both crew cut and shiner at once. She avoided eye contact this morning nevertheless. Last week Boychild kicked Twin 1 once too often and she lamped him. I don't believe that violence is generally the best way's of settling one's differences, although it does keep me in business, but I have consistently advised the Little Darlings that if someone hurts them they hurt right back twice as hard. Kate was clearly listening.