We are no longer allowed within 100 yards of any public toilet. Not on legal grounds I should add (although worrying I felt that necessary), but because Sonny lost a fight with a hand-dryer.

Not your standard namby-pamby hand-dryer that gently tickles the water from your hands, no, Sonny chose to battle a Turbo powered Dyson hand-dryer. The type that blows so hard it gives you a glimpse of how your hands will look in 20 years time.

I was mid-wee, what could I do? I saw his inquisitive hand approach the machine and shouted,

“Don’t put your hand in there!”

He assumed I was talking to a urinal inspecting Luca.

He reached in, the dryer roared into life, and all the skin on his arms (and possibly his legs) shot upwards before flapping around his neck in a Dyson induced tornado.

Did I mention I was mid-wee?

Sensing his distress Luca sprung into action and headed for a closer look. Unfortunately in his haste he slipped on what was probably his own tears of laughter and fell to the ground knocking Sonny’s feet from under him in the process.

I realise the sensible thing to do would have been to calm them both down and leave the toilets in an orderly fashion.

What I did was open the door on which they were both now hysterically clawing at, allowed them to crawl out, stumble to their feet, and run screaming towards the front doors of the library.

The situation further exasperated by me chasing after them whilst still tucking away my tackle.

In order to reassure the concerned onlookers I casually remarked,

“They’re mine”.

Obviously by this I meant my children, don’t worry, nothing to see here, as you were.

In hindsight, I realise I may have appeared more like an aggressive child-snatcher refusing to share what he’d snared.

You don’t really appreciate public toilets until you have children. You certainly don’t truly appreciate them though until they’re off limits.

I’ve now had to cut back on my caffeine intake for fear of being caught short out of the house.

The situation isn’t helped by Luca’s sudden penchant for having a poo on arrival wherever he goes. A more cynical man may think he’s exploiting his brothers fear for his own amusement!

Who am I kidding, I am that cynical man and I’m as equally unimpressed as his big brother!