Daughter, resembling a teenage hunchback of Notre Dam, bent over in a perpetual shape of apathy, shoulders stooped, rucksack heavier than the world, stomps into living room en route to kitchen in search of, well, food….She flings an official looking letter onto my desk.

Daughter : It’s from school….Something about work experience.

Me           : That’s exciting. Anything in mind you’d like to do?

Daughter  : Do you have any friends in MI5

Me            : Afraid not

Daughter : The Masons?

Me           : No, afraid not

Daughter : Do you, like, actually have any?

Me           : Any?

Daughter : Friends.

Me           : Yes, cheeky.

Daughter : The voices in your head don’t count mum

Me           : You’re harsh. Listen, most of my friends work in the voluntary sector…

Daughter : Not quite as thrilling as a suitcase full off secret weapons..

Me           : Perhaps not, but helping others is considerably rewarding

Daughter looks at me as though I am….disturbed

Daughter : What about Forensic Science..any contacts there?

Me           : No but we could explore the possibilities. That would be great work experience.

Daughter : Yeah..all I would need are the rubber gloves, protective goggles, special powder to                              show finger-prints.   I’ll supply the cadavers….