"I'll take him for a walk," he says. It sounds like a great idea: it's been raining all afternoon, we've been glued to the computer and my son is muttering dire things about the news and "the deafest mummy in the world."
My husband attaches sandals (no Wellingtons: they don't sell those things in Zimbabwe), zips up a raincoat (sent from the UK) and they're off.
They're back in record time.
"You know how boys love marching through puddles," he says. "Well, he spotted a huge one round by B's, went running for it but I stopped him just in time."
"Raw sewage was running straight into it. You could smell it metres away."
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