Fat Sister and I had dinner with our mum this evening. I knew none of my more offensive tics would be a problem because she’s heard them all before, but her seventeen-year-old dog died last week and I wasn’t sure she’d be emotionally ready for my new “Mummy killed the dog” tic.

She coped well and no tears were shed – other than tears of laughter from Fat Sister when I threw sugar down her top and shouted, “Sweet tits.”