The Puppies are Evil, apparently.

The puppies are evil. Or at least that’s what Flea tells me.

I had a coffee this week with my friend Louise. She was showing me a note that her four-year-old had left on her dressing table. In childish script, he’d painstakingly written, “To Mummy, I love you, From Harrison xxxxxXXXxxx”

Bless, so cute.

I love when kids do things like that.

Only this weekend, for example, Flea handed me a note she’d written over dinner while we were in Pizza Express.

Here it is:

(For the benefit of those not familiar with the hieroglyphics that pass for handwriting when you’re five it says: To Mum , the puppies are evil. Flea.)

Nope, I’ve no idea, either.

I stuck it on the fridge alongside Flea’s drawing of “The mad scientist who makes the world turn grey”.

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