Sprog 2 woke early yesterday and asked if we could go for a walk. “Mummy can’t,” I said, “she has to go to jail.” Sprog 2 didn’t bat an eyelid, just curled up on the sofa to watch Charlie & Lola. Mummy had a hangover, so she wasn’t really looking forward to jail. But she’d promised to meet someone there. (Need a refresher course on my prison time? See https://housegoeshome.com/2012/01/06/murder-medicine-and-motherhood/) When you book a jail visit, they tell you to arrive at 8.15am. Lord knows why, because they’re lucky to unlock the front doors by 9am (followed by another 20 minutes of faffing while they get their scanners working). I don’t mind the wait outside, it can be highly entertaining. Yesterday there was woman wearing fuzzy bed socks and chain-smoking. Between puffs she discussed her time doing jury duty. It was a case involving parents who left their sick three-month old baby in the care of her nine-year-old sister while they…