Good girl When mother said maybe I should play with the baby without spreading plum jam on his face; because she's my mummy and he came from her tummy, I surrendered the jar with good grace.
Dauphy: That looks like raspberry jam, Hobbo! Hobbo: Does it matter. Dauphy: The readers will notice. Hobbo: I can't find a photo of plum jam. Dauphy: Change the poem then. Hobbo: You see, that is why I do most of the writing. Dauphy: Forget it. No one will notice.