Forget the Anarchist's Cookbook. This one's straight from the freezer.
One day. One of those not quite multi tasking days, when the shopping had been wrongly compartmentalised and the toothpaste was in the oven etc.... a disappointed child removed a solid bottle of pop from the icebox: "Oh yuck it's all frozen".
"Leave it to thaw then" says the daft parent. (A level in Science - but not in Common Sense.)
So there we were on Sunday sitting round the table. Unusually all at the same time and all managing to hold our knives and forks properly and not leave our broccoli stalks. Even a semblance of communication going on. When.......
-Icy shards shocked the air in slow motion. A hail of citrus fallout crashed around us. We sat deafened. Snipers, Al Quaida, British Gas, the neighbours?
In the white silence that followed, the kids moved first. Racing gleefully to the plastic bottle's wrecked fuselage - they crammed their faces with lemony lolly shrapnel shot to the furthest reaches of the room.
- Only a dimension away from blood, blindness, A+E and the Southwark Social Services of a parallel universe.