Who's the parent?

We've had a particularly irritating day today, full of lots of little niggles and queries. This kind of thing

"Does the book have any pictures?" The description clearly states that it is illustrated with b&w photographs.

"Octavo? What does that mean? Can you tell me the exact size of the book?" Actually this one I wouldn't have minded, I honestly don't expect everyone to know what octavo means but it was a Wilbur Smith hardback and they just come in the one size - if you've bought one - you know what it is.

"My book hasn't arrived yet - where is it? Are you scamming me?" No I'm not - you are in the United States, I am in England, you ordered the book on Monday and it's now Wednesday, and Concorde doesn't operate anymore.

And this was my favourite "Can I collect this book to save on postage?" Well yes, of course you can, but you might find that the round-trip from Australia to Dunstable will be a little more costly than the £4 postage I would charge you.

Anyway - that's been the general form of the day so we decided to go to the pub to wind down. It can be a lonely existence being an online bookseller, and its good sometimes to remember that there is a world out there. So off we trot, telling Kirsty to turn the oven off when it beeps in 40 minutes and we'll be back in about an hour to feed her. Just as we were finishing our drinks - me a glass of sparkling water (I'm off booze) and Tony a well-earned pint, our friends, Rose & Ian walked in. Well it would have been rude to have just said Hello/Goodbye, so we stayed for another and we lost track of time.

We arrived home about an hour and a half later to receive the kind of bollocking from Kirsty that your mother would have given you, if you'd arrived home at 2 in the morning smelling of dope. "Where've you been? I was worried about you! Dinner's ruined! I laid the table, lit the candles and had to blow them out again! If I'd have treated you like this you would have grounded me for a month (true!), You treat me so badly!" On and on it went, she stropped all the way through dinner, and is as we speak, playing her guitar very loudly in protest at our total lack of respect for her.

I have apologised. I did say she could have called us if she was that worried - but she pointedly informed me that she's got no credit (dig, dig). I have now given up. Hell hath no fury like a hungry teenage daughter.