The fattest boy in the whole world comes to tea

It would be fair to say that the arrival of the fattest boy in the whole world was preceded by not inconsequential levels of anxiety.

When the day dawned, it was with a slightly quickened pulse that I walked home from the morning school run, a satchel of M's medical supplies weighing me down like a pack horse. I spent the day feverishly researching anaphylactic shock and CPR and before I could say nuts it was time to pick up the boys.

Unfortunately, someone in the class had provided biscuits for their birthday so my first experience of M at close quarters involved being doused with the saliva that jumped out of his mouth at the very mention of biscuits. I am, however, nothing if not a stoic and I forced back the nausea and pressed on like a trooper.

We rounded the school gates and I merrily suggested Son skipped ahead to show M the way. "It's OK" M said, "I know the way".
"Oh, you mean you know where our road is", I replied. (For reference, our road is a cul de sac, there is no reason to go down it unless you live there, and M lives miles in the opposite direction)

"No", he said, "I mean I know where you live"
"Oh", I said, "You mean Son has explained the way already"
"No (you moron - implied, not actually spoken) I mean I've been there. My dad got my uncle who's really, really, really big (and will hit you hard if I say I don't like you - implied, not actually spoken) to drive us over last night to check out your house (because, unlike you, they are psychos - not even implied, but understood)"
"Oh" I said.


Postscript: To be honest, the rest of the afternoon was ridiculously uneventful. I managed to keep M alive, managed not to be sick as he stuffed his face and managed to drop him off safe and sound at home without being accosted by a big uncle in an even bigger car.