Would you like curry with that?

You know, I had been working myself up for the last two days to commence my next tirade, and one truly close to my own heart - religious education. ( Not to mention that my dear friend Phil would no doubt feel I have truly come of blogging age). But then, as often happens, you get an afternoon where the immediate reality grabs a hold of the mind space, and well.........there's wine, and......well who really has the energy for rage this evening!

I'm going to introduce two of the three loves of my life - I'd prefer to call them "The Burrower and "The Dobber" - but my husband continues to remind me that the statute on repressed memories isn't entirely free from contestability - and may well be exercised before we've managed to payout the mortgage.

So I'll describe them by their smiles - Dolphin Girl and Chattering Chipmunk (but feel free to apply the former titles respectively - God knows that girl can snake a finger into her nose and straight back into her mouth faster than I can yell "NO BURROWING" - and trust me, that's fast!!! )

You get days when nothing goes as planned - and then you get days where "never work with children or other animals" become the catchphrase. Like today.

I'm feeling good - I've just served an "I work and I'm a great MUM" over the net to the pasty shrews and howdy homemakers - and its time to reinforce this message. And I'm such a damn good cook, it's time to employee a senile memory and re-invite the children into the inner sanctum......and make hot cross buns.

Now you must understand - I pride myself on my cooking - and b.c. (before children) I once charmedthe pants off every surrounding village with my savoir faire. But enough - I digress.

Dolphin girl and Chattering Chipmunk were intensely excited. With two chairs pushed up against the kitchen bench, and every spice known to man laid out on the kitchen table, we'd not only progressed past the turn for turn ladling of flour, various shrivelled forms of grape, but actually turned out the dough for a first rising. And then distracted three turning four - must get into something mode - set in.

I’m washing up the mixing bowl, when Dolphin Girl lets out a blood curdling scream that sets the dogs barking, a flock of sulphur crested cockatoos squawking, and those bloody scrub turkeys out parading, with a general look of helpfulness.

I look over to the kitchen table, and there is Dolphin Girl, little hands screwed up tight in her eyes – and the jar of curry powder open with a hefty trail of orange leading up to her nostrils.

(Dolphin girl is a real sensate - if there's a flower with a heady perfume, she'll inhale it, petals, sepals and all. So the initial temptation of curry - and such a pretty colour - all too good to pass up!)

So I rush her down the corridor to the bathroom, and then run ahead, yelling to Chattering Chipmunk “Bring her down – I’ll get the tap running and the flannel ready.” Chattering Chipmunk naturally interprets this 'as stand in front of her and use hand signals and voice commands.' Naturally, Dolphin Girl can’t see and proceeds to bang into walls, increasing the wailing to a desperate pitch. “For God’s sake, Chattering Chipmunk, take her hand and lead her into the bathroom” - to which he responds by bringing her around the corner with awesome velocity - she smacks into the wall, rubs her nose, and manages to get some curry powder into her mouth.

So I’m frantically dousing her eyes with water, with the tap running, rinsing out the flannel inbetween washes. And Dolphin Girl is doing her bit too. Inbetween washes, Dolphin Girl is placing her balled up little curry encrusted fists back into her eyes , and screaming with all the intent of a chicken destined for the chopping block - as the water that I'm generously pouring into her eyes is the last link in a curry osmosis stream that she's continuously fuelling with her fists.

So I stand her up on the sink, scatter the bucket of bath toys into the bath, fill the bucket up with water, stick her hands under the tap – and pour the bucket over her head.

Now everyone’s happy. They’re watching a movie. Oh – and Chattering Chipmunk tells me there’s a curry stain on the bathroom floor. I tell him this is something he should share with his father.

Happy chocolate festival. By the way, the buns are fantastic.