There was a gentle knock on the study door as I was wading through my daily delivery of press cuttings this morning.
“What is it?”
The senior boy, who plays the role of shop steward on such occasions, replied: “Daddy, Jamie would like some paper to draw on.”
“Come on in, then. Jamie, how many sheets would you like?”
Of course, I already knew the answer. Three. It is always three. Because, as you may well have heard, “I are three.”
A couple of days ago he asked Mrs H, “Mummy, do you know why I are three?”
She shook her head and received a pitying look.
“Because I’ve been one, and I’ve been two. And that’s why I are three.”
I think you will find that his logic is impossible to fault.
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