George doesn’t seem to have any of my issues with personal space, judging by the amount of time he spends in my room. There are ground rules in place, though, thanks to Dom, because that’s a whole lot of kid. The drill is, he has to knock on the door, and if he doesn’t hear anything back, he’s supposed to buzz off, no questions asked. But if I say come in, he pokes his head around the door and asks, ‘Are you receiving?’ like Dom’s told him to. The first time he stood there for ages trying to remember what he was supposed to say, then he finally comes up with, ‘Are you receiving me, Wolfie?’ Hilarious. Makes me sound like a two-way radio.

I’m lying on the bed doing my Spanish homework in my head (a technique Mr Navarro hasn’t quite come around to yet), and I hear George’s clumpy school shoe footsteps coming up the hallway. Part of me wants to lie there quietly and not answer. Hoy no, gracias. Not today, kid. Maybe slip a note out under the door saying, ‘Sorry, I’m not receiving.’ But when that little knock comes, I picture him standing out there following the ground rules like a champion and thinking I don’t want to see him.

‘Hey, George. Come in, it’s OK, I’m receiving,’ I hear myself say.

‘Hurray, she’s receiving, Dad! Told you!’

I’ve never really been on board the whole ‘kids are cute’ bandwagon, but George has got me reconsidering my policy. I came close to relaxing it one other time, when Larry and Meiko told me they were having a baby, but the little tadpole that would have been my brother or sister had other ideas. The miniature gifts came thick and fast that year but it wasn’t really the same.

‘D’ya want to see something, Wolfie?’

‘I definitely want to see something, George.’ I sit up, and Gentleman streaks past him and makes a leap for the bed. He lands next to me and instantly drops, like he’s been there all along and he’s the one receiving visitors. Smooth. George hangs back a bit, probably wondering how jumping on my bed fits into the ground rules. Both of them are wearing blue satin Superman capes tied around their necks and I have to admit – the cuteness level is high.

Dom’s a few steps behind them, and he pokes his head in the doorway and raises his eyebrows at me. The moment when I could have raised mine back to say, ‘Yeah, it’s not a great time actually and maybe I shouldn’t be receiving,’ passes and he leaves us to it.

In the car on the way to school the other day, Dom told me he’s trying to teach George the art of conversation. How it should always be an event of two halves and that while it’s great that George is an enthusiastic talker, he also needs to learn to recognise when it’s someone else’s turn. He asked if I could help, and it made me think about when Lou’s on a sofa holiday and I sit on the floor telling her everything I’ve found out about our made-up destination just to get a spark of interest. It’s always my turn, so I have the credentials. I told Dom I was in.