THE JONES' BABY

Ollie wanted to keep kicking his ball at the line of empty cans he’d set up in the garden, but Mummy put them back into the recycling and asked him what was wrong with the new Lego set.  Five minutes later she reminded him they had to go to the Jones' baby party.“There’ll be other children to play with,” she reassured him.

Only adults milled about in the pristine house, eyebrows were arched at the sight of Ollie and he held on tight to Mummy’s hand.

“Heather, so glad you could come,” Mandy Jones said.
“Sorry, I didn’t realise …” began Mummy.
“It’s OK,” Mandy smiled down at Ollie who hid behind Mummy’s legs, “there’s a buffet over there if you’re hungry.”
The food was unrecognisable to Ollie, there were no sausages on sticks or crisps.  He asked Mummy what it was.
“Canapes, houmous, salad, olives and bread,” she said, “it’s all very nice, why don’t you try …?”
“No,” Ollie snapped.
“I’ll get him a bag of crisps,” Mandy’s husband, Derek said kindly, “what flavour would you like, Ollie?”
“Where’s the baby?” Ollie asked.
"Ssh,” Mummy said.
After a bag of sea salted potato chips, Ollie left Mummy talking to her friends and explored the house.  He thought it was strange that there were no toys for the baby to play with and everything was so clean and tidy.  In other places he’d been to where there were children, there was always mess.  Here everything smelt like his house did when Mummy went mad with the Hoover.   He found his way into the nursery.  It was beautiful, a lovely white wooden cot, a mobile of vintage cars, a soft blue carpet, a small wardrobe, a mobile library with shiny new baby books in and finally a toy chest.  He ran towards it desperate for entertainment, but when he opened it all the toys in there were still in their boxes.
“Ollie!” It was Mummy’s voice.  He hurried down the stairs to see her waiting at the bottom for him.
“It’s rude to go wandering around other people’s houses!” she hissed.
“Mummy, all the toys were …”
“Ssh!”
Finally, Mandy bought a Moses basket down to the living room and put it on the table.  One by one the adults looked in it.
“Mandy, your baby is perfect and will be forever,” sighed Jenny.
“He’ll never let you down,” stated Simon.
“You’ll never have to worry about him,” Tina said, touching Mandy’s hand, face full of compassion.
“So beautiful,” whispered Mummy.
Ollie tried to get past Mummy to see into the basket, but the table was too tall for him.  Determined to have a look, he stood on a chair and looked in.
“Mummy, there’s a dead baby in there!” Ollie cried.
The room went silent, then hands grabbed him, pulled him off the chair and propelled him towards the door.
“Get him out of here!” Derek hissed tightly.  Ollie caught a glimpse of Mandy collapsing in tears onto Tina’s shoulder.
“So insensitive to bring a child,” Jenny remonstrated with Mummy.
“I’m sorry, no-one told me!” she cried.

Outside the Jones’ house, Mummy marched to the car with Ollie following miserably behind.

“Well, there was something to be said for the Jones’ baby,” she snapped, “at least he’ll never ever embarrass them!”

NUGGETS

It’s difficult to know who to blame – Hursley town planners for allowing the Family Feeder to be built or the company that owns the franchise.  They were responsible for the aggressive marketing campaign, telling children to nag their parents into submission and reassuring Mums and Dads that children are guaranteed to eat the tasty food.   There are also the parents who took their children to that ‘restaurant’. 

People should be taught about primordial tastes.  The ‘tasty’, high sugar, high fat food produces an intense reaction in a child’s brain – like crack cocaine.  Would you feed crack to your child?  Of course not, but you’ll take them to the Family Feeder and give them chicken nuggets surrounded by fatty batter, burgers dripping with grease and chips made with more sugar than potato, teamed with an over sweetened milkshake or cola.  Nice work!  In the absence of the drug, the user craves more.  Children’s insulin levels are raised so high by the sugar assault on their body that they are starving just an hour after their visit and guess where they want to go and eat again.

The good folk of Hursley realised what was going on and stopped taking their children there.  In response, the Family Feeder upped its marketing campaign, urging children to go on hunger strike and calling them to war.  Be as objectionable as possible – Pester Power, it’s a military campaign!  I’ve heard stories of parents compromising and taking children once a day, or caving in completely and going to the Family Feeder for breakfast, dinner and tea.

What the Family Feeder don’t know, is that this is the same food the military gives to their soldiers because they identify that it’ll make them more inclined to kill.  Food high in antioxidants creates cheerful, useful citizens (and children).  Food high in saturated fat and sugar turns people into angry, depressed risk takers full of self loathing and willing to do anything for their next fix.  The lack of fibre creates constipated kids with aching bellies and the caffeine in the soda will cause sleeplessness.  Well done, Mums and Dads of Hursley; your children have lost all sense of proportion in their desperation to obtain what is essentially crack to them and the physiological effects I’ve described have turned them into mini Incredible Hulks.

Now I, the Child Health Psychologist, must sort it out.  I’m standing outside the Family Feeder with a loudspeaker, absolutely fed up of being called to this sort of crisis.  At 2.30pm this afternoon, the junior schools of Hursley emptied.  The children marched, zombie-like, in a three hundred strong mob, to the Family Feeder.  They shut the doors behind them and barricaded them with tables.  They pulled the blinds down in the windows.  The fate of the restaurant staff and adult customers is as yet unknown, but I must act quickly before they run out of chicken nuggets and chips.