If you’re a parent then you’ll probably appreciate how little things can cause chaos around the home.
This week it’s been very little things indeed causing panic in the Stocks household, and they’re not welcome at all.
I’m talking about the dreaded nits.
Now, I’m old enough to remember the visits of Nitty Nora (The Hair Explorer) to our local primary schools.
I’ve seen no evidence, so far, such a thing exists these days and, in many ways, that’s probably for the best.
There’s still a tiny shudder as I recall those visits.
Rumours would start around the school almost as soon as you’d arrived, the playground rife with talk of Nora’s presence - fear written on the faces of those itchy scratchy children who knew they’d be ending their day in the line-up of the unclean.
Even if you didn’t have the little blighters running around your noggin the mere presence of Niity Nora (The Hair Explorer) would have you scratching like a dog with stitches, paranoia talking hold.
Nora would generally set up camp in the school library - the giant telly on wheels, which took three teachers to move, pushed to one side to make way for her audience area.
Class by class, shaking youngsters would be lined up down a gloomy corridor, trudging in one-by-one to meet their fate like condemned men headed for the gallows.
Mercifully my head, despite a horrendously unruly blond barnet, never did provide rich pickings for Nora.
And, given the number of ‘nit notes’ I’ve seen in the last couple of years, I’m starting to think how good it would be to welcome her back.
I’m hoping she’d still find my hair, as unruly as ever, still clear of bugs and the like.
But, given that the latest victim in our household has admitted wearing my woolly hat, I’m taking no chances, throwing a whole pharmacy at my head just to be on the safe side.
It’s the first time I’ve ever had to do it and for that I’m thankful to that old enemy of the classroom.
Nitty Nora (The Hair Explorer), I salute you.