44 days, 26

Kira's home! No school for two weeks. She sleeps late (of course) and then 'hangs out', coming round the building site for hourly inspections and chats. She refuses every gardening or building project I propose (I don't have any other kinds of projects!) - by midday I'm beginning to wonder how parents manage holidays when they can't stop their work.

Actually, she's very sweet and chirpy. Mid afternoon, in the full glare of the sun, she hops high on the trampoline, in her swimsuit, squealing like a happy urchin. I investigate. Next to the trampoline there's a bucket full of balloons. Each balloon is filled with water. Kira descends gingerly to get one, jumps a few times holding it like a beloved teddy bear then suddenly throws it high above her own head. She then holds up a small sharp twig (oh how I wish I could say 'a sudden glint in the sunlight reveals the blade she hides in her palm': wouldn't that be fabulous?); the balloon bursts in a spectacular shower; splash, squeal, etc. She makes me pass a balloon to her just to lauch it back at me like a cannonball. It bursts on impact, double squeal, let's do it again.

Later, we go to the bathroom shop (again) and pass by her friend's house. By this stage even I, the mouse of Moss County, jump out of the car and ring the bell – ANY play session with friends would be swell – but no one's at home. 'Maybe she's at the park' I say and neither of us believes it. We get to the park and the friend IS THERE! Happy play session with much gymnastics in the grass.

One highlight: a snatched conversation between Gymnasts and the Evil Twins of the park:
Friend: 'Which one are you?'
X Twin: 'I'm X.'
Kira: 'How do we know you're not Y?'
X Twin (pointing at football mate): 'Ask him.'
Friend (to football mate): 'How do you tell them apart?'
Football mate: 'By their faces.'
Kira: 'But they're exactly the same!'
X Twin (indignant): 'No we're not. Y has lost a lot more teeth than me!'
He opens his mouth wide, to display vacant gums and a blue, post-lollipop tongue.