Eleven

'I've got an African fabric.' she says. 'For Madiba.' 'That's not African!' I say. 'Aren't they daisies?' 'Oh well it's earthy. And beautiful. And it was a lovely shirt to wear!'  

My head is full of shopping and Christmas No 1 singles. I am feeling about a million miles away from the ceremonies in South Africa. But some passionate singing from Friday night has rubbed off on Mr Middle and every now and then he belts out 'Freeee-eeee Nelson Mandela'. Keeping it current. Keeping it real. He asked the minister tonight if John the Baptist was a bit like Martin Luther King. I love my kids. And I love my church which produces a minister who basically agrees with him, not missing a beat as she hammers home the 'dreaming of new things to come' connection, trying to make a hairy, animal-skinned wearing, prophet come alive a couple of thousand years on.