One of those mornings when I must explore the time dimensions of Einstein, considering I have to put Shark on a train at Luton airport, place Tiger on a windsurfing lake outside Bedford, and erect a modest craft stall in a small town north of Milton Keynes. All within fifteen minutes of each other.
I do what any normal mother of triplets does when she must have a practical bash at time travel. After all, what did Einstein have but a load of letters and some numbers? I have a beaten up old diesel van and a willpower fashioned from experience with late twentieth century steel.
I fill up on rocket fuel, hold the earth steady, put two fingers up to the normal laws of physics and give Squirrel very specific instructions about what to do with my red velvet curtain.
Together we do it all, but really it is only thanks to Shark, Squirrel and Tiger doing exactly what they are told within a one-second horizon that we do it at all.
But the morning almost finishes me off. The puffyupandfalloffyitis is so very chronic today, probably akin to leprosy, that I not only resemble a hideous withered gnome, I am also in pain. Squirrel suggests for the rest of Saturday I hang a bell round my neck to warn those approaching that I look like a woman half done in. That is a helpful suggestion and I might take it up. Were I not for the fact that I must spend the rest of the day standing behind my craft stall, selling beautiful hand-made leather fetish collecting books.
Here, amuse yourselves similarly with other tales of time travel.