Following our play-date with The F, The B's favourite Poo-Pal, further evidence that nothing can tickle a toddler quite like a little toilet humour.
There is, in the neighbouring town, a hairdressing salon, unremarkable in all aspects other than its name.
It is named, one presumes, after its owner, a man, it must be said, bearing a most unfortunate moniker.
Once, whilst passing said salon, we commented on this name.
Cue howls of laughter from the back of the car.
Nowadays, it's impossible to pass without uncontrollable hilarity, The B breaking from his hysterical laughter only to repeat the name as loud as possible as though for the first time, The G chuckling along, not understanding the real reason.
I don't claim to discourage this behaviour.
For me, anything that makes them laugh must be OK.
Oh yes, the salon.
It's called Trumpers.