Spaghettiing the Banana

I had a lovely time on Saturday. I didn’t think I’d enjoy it – I went off to my Dad’s, in Bristol. He remarried ages ago, and this was a big party for one of his step-children (who is 21). After the birthday lunch (in the back room of a pub) we all went back to my dad’s house and the children were messing around. My favourite step-brother is the youngest, Jacob, who is twelve and looks sort of angelic – blond curls hair, willowy, brilliant at sports – but isn’t. We’ve always got on well (except when he was a baby, and I resented him, of course), and he tells me stuff be probably wouldn’t tell his dad or mum, and I find some of it really interesting and amusing. Like - recently he’s discovered that if you push a piece of raw spaghetti into a banana it gradually absorbs all the juice from the banana over a few hours, and turns into a sort of slimy worm that horrifies anyone unsuspecting who bites into the banana .
Last time I visited he was really into dropping a special peppermint called Mentos into diet coke, which turns it into an explosive fountain. (He first did it in the garden and accidentally traumatised his pet rabbits – they didn’t know what to make of this sudden monsoon of sticky brown rain. You can still see where it fell on the greenhouse.)He’s planning to fill the bath with custard and walk on it next week. (Because, for some complicated reason to do with physics, it can support your weight, so its sort of like walking on water.)
Anyhoo, it was so great spending hours having silly conversations with him and his friends in the Indian summery sun. It makes me feel I would really, really like to get married and have children soon.