The other night I dreamt that I was on holiday with the family-of-four-boys-five-and-under.
And their pet panda.
Yes. You read that right.
Their larger than life pet panda. He was built like a brick shithouse: think Jonah Lomu, double him in size, chop off his legs, imagine concrete has a high nutritional value and understand that is his food of choice, add some razor sharp long ninja-like claws, now cover him in black and white fur and you'll start to get the picture.
Needless to say I was a little dubious about this panda. Especially as I needed to get past him to get a book to read to one of the boys, and he also had his eye on one of the books.
'Don't worry about him, he's harmless,' assured Father-of-four-boys-five-and-under.
But I knew otherwise, I knew that that panda had the ability to turn me into sashimi or gently squash me to death and get out of it by it by claiming he was only giving me a bear hug.
And then the dream ended.
I text the short version of the dream to the Mother-of-four-boys-five-and-under.
'Were we having a nice holiday?' She text back.
'You were having a lovely old time. But I wouldn't trust that bear as far as I could kick the fucker.' I replied.
Last night I was around the Family-of-four-boys-five-and-under and Mother-of said to me, 'Oh my god, you have no idea what the five year old came home with.'
She said he came home from school yesterday, 'Mummy, Mummy - look what I did today!'
Yup, you guessed right.
It was a picture of that panda bear.
And the five year old hadn't heard about my dream.
That bear is messing with my head.