There was a marvellous little exhibition in one of Marple's hidden gems, The Reading Room on Hibbert Lane. Displaying photographs and artefacts depicting Marple's industrial and social history it was also well thought out with a small cafe at the back serving home made cakes and tables for kids to paint and draw scenes of mills, barges and bridges.
I must have browsed the room for all of, oh, forty seconds before our brood of boys insisted instead on going to the sweet shop or just to scream "Noooooooo, it's boring".
Once inside the home of pornography, sweets and pop, with their grubby fingers in the pick and mix, one expelled some air from his backside that cleared the shop. Another attacked one of his brothers over ownership of a refresher chew. None of them said "thank you" to us.
I know sometimes I present our life as some kind of northern version of The Waltons, but I relay this incident to make it clear that our little angels are quite capable of being horrors.