There’s a special little dance I reserve for evenings when I realise The Blacklist is on and there’s cold wine in the fridge (accompanied by a tiny squeal if there’s also chocolate). This morning I busted out that dance by the grey light of dawn when the TV line up revealed cartoons that BOTH girls like, all they requested for a snack was a banana, and no one squawked “stay with me Mama!” when I tabled the proposal that I go back to bed for a while.