I met Finn today. Amelie introduced me to him when I dropped her off at nursery, so I looked him in the eye and asked him about his prospects and any future plans for my daughter. He responded by showing me a paper aeroplane. So I took that to mean a jet-setting lifestyle by the first anniversary. Although judging by the way it flew, things might come crashing down around them.

Amelie didn't go to nursery yesterday, as she had an appointment with the nurse at our local doctor's surgery. The nurse distracted her with a toy woodpecker, and pumped one arm with the MMR vaccine, and the other with a 4-in-1 pre-school booster. According to the official NHS schedule, that completes her early childhood vaccinations, meaning she's immune to all known diseases until she's 13 and gets the HPV jab. Which stops her getting cancer from truckers.

Apparently she didn't even flinch when the needle went in (no sense, no feeling) so the nurse gave her an NHS bravery sticker. Frankly I deserve one of those every day of the working week, but we don't have that kind of budget in our department. As a victim of child poverty, Amelie was naturally delighted with her sticker, which made it all the more heart-breaking when she lost it on the way home. Lisa had to buy her a new game for the iPad as compensation. Which is something I don't have the budget for.

All of those shenanigans meant that today was Amelie's first visit to nursery for six days. And a lot's changed in that time. Most notably the weather. When she started back in January, we were informed that every child must be supplied with a warm hat and gloves in winter, and a sun-hat and sun-cream in summer. As a result, Amelie's been walking to nursery every day with her Peppa Pig bag filled with appropriate clothing. Appropriate, that is, until today.

When I collected her at 5pm this afternoon, they were all out in the garden. Amelie was wearing a tatty old hat I'd never seen before, so I asked her where she'd got it. At which point a member of staff came over and took me to one side for a quiet, but stern, word. I was told she'd had to borrow a hat, as she was the only one without. Naturally I felt a bit guilty, and was just trying to work out how I could blame it on Lisa, when Amelie trotted up and said "Daddy! I was the only one without sun-cream too!"

Apparently they'd checked her bag for sun-block, and found a woolly hat and mittens. But as Lisa put it, when I finally escaped my detention and made it back home, "If they'd had snow this afternoon, she'd have been the only one prepared".