The Tipping Point
I make the two hundred and thirty-seventh trip to load up the car, then take a look around the hotel room that has been home for the last four days and nights and our first family holiday. There is food sprayed on the wall, vomit stains on the bedspread and excrement smeared on the towels. It looks like Mötley Crüe have stayed here circa 1987, only if instead of being addicted to class A drugs they were hooked on Hipp organic baby food.
I realise that I have entered the phase in my life where it is necessary to leave tips everywhere we go.
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