Glancing at the Guardian, my Guardian, Tom had left on the table I was reminded of the World Track Cycling championships at the Easter weekend. Now I had to work out how I could find some time to see them, or parts of them. I know the BBC website always carries bits of races we win, but it’s not the same as seeing it live.

My phone peeped and Queen’s Bicycle Race rang out–yeah, I know corny, but Si arranged it. It made Catherine jump where she’d dozed at my nipple and she nearly bit the whole thing off before she burst into tears.

I handed her to Jacquie who seemed to do well to quieten her enough for me to take the call. “Hi, Si.” I said pulling my top down over my naked breast.

“Hi, Babes, look we’re invited to some interbank thingy next weekend.”

“That’s Easter weekend?” I queried.

“That’s the one.”

“Who is we, exactly?”

“Us–you me, children–you know, those small human looking creatures you feed and take to school.”

“Why?”

“It’s something the London clearing banks put on for their directors and senior managers.”

“What about the lesser staff?”

“Oh they get a day out in Brighton in October or something, why?”

“Thanks but no thanks.”

“But you don’t know what you’re missing.”

“Patronage and favouritism. If I wanted a weekend of meeting non-entities, I could go away to Lanzarote.”

“Yeah, but then you’d have to pay for it.”

“I pay for it whatever happens.”

“No, the banks pay for it.”

“Darling, the banks only pay for things with mine and other customer’s money.”

“No you profit from the other customer’s money, remember–it pays for me and I pay for you.”

“Either way, I don’t want to go–byee.”

“Cathy, don’t hang up.”

“Why, I have a baby to change.”

“What for, I like the one we have already–no let’s keep her.”

“Okay, I quite like her too–byee.”

“Cathy, please don’t hang up.”

“Why, I told you I have things to do? D’you think your shirts iron themselves, or your dinner cooks itself?”

“What’s Jacquie doing?”

“Holding the baby at this very moment, why?”

“Can’t she cook the baby and change the dinner?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, how could you change the dinner–I organised what we’re eating days ago.”

“Okay, okay–I don’t want too much baby.”

“You’ll take what you’re given and be grateful.”

“Can’t we have cottage pie again? I love your cottage pie.”

“No, it’s beef hotpot.”

“With dumplings?”

“Probably, why?”

“You have delightful dumplings, Babes.”

“Yeah, one has tooth marks in it from the baby I was feeding before my stupid phone ringtone frightened her to death.”

“I’ll kiss it better when I get home.”

“If I let you.”

“Natch. Now this weekend...”

“No, I’ve planned an egg rolling event, all of Trish and Meems classes are coming.”

“Where?”

“Here, why?”

“How are they going to park all those cars there?”

“Children that age don’t drive, silly.”

“No the children, their parents.”

“I didn’t invite the parents, just the kids.”

“Oh–okay. When did you plan it?”

“Oh ages ago.”

“Did you? Who’s paying for it?”

“You, why?”

“Just wondered.”

“Just popping the baby in the oven, stuffing or not?”

“What flavour?”

“What goes best with babies?”

“Talc and baby lotion with chives.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Okay. Byee.”

“Cathy, seriously, what about next weekend?”

“Is this in celebration of Easter?”

“Probably, why?”

“I don’t celebrate pagan feast days disguised as Christian ones, even if I don’t have a Nisan.”

“Nissan? What on earth has a Jap car got to do with Easter?”

“I don’t know, it all passes over me.”

“Cathy, can you talk some sense?”

“I was in school with a boy whose surname was Pask, he was Welsh or Cornish or something.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Pask is Cornish for Easter, based on the Hebrew term Pesach.”

“Yeah, so?”

“How would you like to go through life with the name Ivel Easter.”

“His first name was Ivel?”

“Yes, like the saint.”

“That is criminal.”

“Why, you’re named from one of the apostles, Peter whose name was Simon.”

“No, I’m named after the local pie-maker.”

“That explains a lot.”

“It’s what my father told me when I asked.”

“I thought you told me it was your Grandfather’s favourite name.”

“Yeah, for his dog.”

“Well I think it’s an admirable name for a dog.”

“Dogs don’t usually become admirals, Cathy.”

“What about sea dogs?”

“Okay, I stand corrected yet again. Next time I’ll marry someone less clever.”

“Next time?”

“Yeah, after you divorce me for insisting we go to this bank thing.”

“What about my egg rolling?”

“What about it?”

“You’re prepared to break the hearts of thirty little girls?”

“I’m a banker, Cathy, it’s what I do for a living–you know horrible usurer and all that.”

“Damn, I forgot–must have been thinking about egg rolling.”

“Can’t you have it another weekend?”

“No, it’s all about the Easter Bunny laying eggs for the kids to find.”

“That’s American?”

“So?” I challenged.

“Anyway, bunnies don’t lay eggs.”

“Who is the biologist here?”

“I think I’m safe in asserting that bunnies don’t lay eggs.”

“Not even the Easter Bunny?”

“No, no bunnies do.”

“I see, did you appreciate that hares are associated with the goddess Eostre?”

“Even if they are, it’s still chickens that lay eggs, not bunnies.”

“In the sense of hen’s eggs yes, but isn’t depositing things on the ground gently, also laying?”

“Not eggs, they are laid by chickens.”

“I see, so ducks don’t lay eggs then?”

“Okay, ducks lay eggs too.”

“And geese?”

“Okay, geese as well.”

“And crocodiles?”

“Do they lay eggs?”

“Of course they do, it’s a characteristic of most reptiles–it’s where birds got the habit from–you know they’re really feathered dinosaurs?”

“You’re not having a crocodile laying the eggs then–for the children–it could be more challenging than a bunny?”

“No, it’s too late. Have you ever thought why brickies are so bad tempered?”

“No, I assumed it was something to do with eating cement or something.”

“Could just be laying bricks, I mean, that shape is hardly conducive to being laid, is it? Mind you oval ones would fall out of the walls–hmm.”

“Cathy, what about this weekend?”

“You asked me that before.”

“Yeah, so I’m asking you again.”

“On one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“You dress up as the Easter bunny the following week and lay all the eggs for the kids to find?”

“Is that negotiable?”

“No.”

“I’ll tell the bank we can’t make it.”

“Oh, and just as you were getting me interested, and we hadn’t even got to Quartodecimanism.”

“Ah no, I’m allergic to anything with nuts–quite how I married you, is a mystery?”

“I have to go and baste the baby, bye, darling.”

“Tell ’em we can’t go, no you don’t want to know why...” I heard him tell his secretary before he ran off.

“Mummy, you are so funny,” said Jacquie.

“Nah, Si’s the funny one, remember you only heard half the conversation.”

“So have you organised the egg-rolling thing?”

“What egg rolling thing?”

“You told Daddy you had?”

“Did I? I suppose you’d better get on and do it then.”

“Mee?” she squealed.

“Yes, get the baby to help, she’s quite good at organising things.”