The Pet Shop Boys

Small Boy barrels out of school at top speed.
"I need to get home quick so I can Skype William!" he yells, bashing me in the back of the legs with his rucksack.
"Why do you want to Skype someone you've just spent the whole day with?" I ask.
"More like why would you want to look at that boy's face any longer than you actually have to?" comments Daughter, scathingly.

“Well,” says Small Boy, putting on his what-I’m-about-to-say-is-terribly-important voice. “We have to Skype so we can plan what we are doing for the Dragons’ Den."

"I'm sorry?" I am already losing the thread of this conversation.

"Dragon's Den," repeats Small Boy. "We have to get into teams and decide what we are going to pitch to the Dragons to make money for the end of term fair, and me and William, right, we are going to pitch the totally fantastic idea of a Petting Zoo!”

I hold my breath and wait for him to tell me this is another of their make-believe games, like the time they both came running out of school and announced they were opening a Real Life Zoo in our back garden with “real lions and seals and giraffes and everything” which they were going to get from Longleat "cos that Lord Bath guy has far too many already".

“A petting zoo?” says Daughter, giving him her most contemptuous of looks.

“Yes, like, you know – a zoo of pets!” says Small Boy.

“You’re telling me that school has given you permission to bring in your pets? To the actual school premises?” I ask him.

Small Boy waves his hands impatiently at me. “They haven’t yet. But they will,” he says ominously. “And anyway we are going to make loads of money out of it,” he adds.
“Hang on a minute," I say, as it dawns on me that he is serious about taking our pets in, "you can't take the dog and cats! They would hate it - well, the cats would.”

The last time I took the cats anywhere Psycho Cat peed in her cat box and looked like a drowned and particularly smelly rat by the time we reached our destination, and the other one made such horrendous noises I had to turn the radio up full blast to stop myself from having a panic attack and crashing the car. As for the dog, the idea of bringing in our over-enthusiastic Labrador who will not sit still if even one child is in sight, let alone 300, and whose bowels are not the most predictable--

“NO! Of course not,” says Small Boy, shaking his head in despair. “I’m taking the chickens in.”
Good grief. “And, dare I ask, what is William bringing in?”

“His chickens.”

“So this is a chicken zoo rather than a petting zoo,” I say.

“No, deerrrr, because Ellie is bringing in her tortoise and Molly is bringing in her hamster and Maeve is - well, Maeve isn't actually bringing anything in obviously, as she doesn't have any pets, but she's going to help William with his lambs which he is also bringing in,” says Small Boy.
“I see.”

“And Ollie has said that I can rent his guinea pigs for the day for £1.20 each.”

“So you’re already in debt before you’ve even started,” I point out.

"Mu-uuum!" Small Boy protests. "You are not really getting the point of this whole Dragons' Den thing, are you?"
No, I don't believe I am to be honest. But when has that ever stopped Small Boy and William when they are on a roll?