My two eldest children have quite a competition going on at the dining room table. The one who eats the fastest and the most will get to outer space first by growing the tallest, so tall indeed that their heads will be in the stars.
“I’m going to grow big, big, big. To outer space,” says my four-year-old son.
“Me too,” says the six-year-old girl. “And I’m going to get there quicker.”
And the spoons and forks fly at great velocity, piling pasta, porridge, grapes, fish fingers or lentil stew down the hatch followed by an eruption or two – and an “excuse me.”
The great space race, I think. Or star wars.