"Why don't you give me something I can use?" I asked The Mothership as she crossed her eyes, tongue curled up, checking her top lip for stray capuccino foam. She'd spent the whole meal relating stories in her booming Teachers Voice, my mascara was smeared from laughing. The Mothership loves telling stories and loves me regurgitating them on here. I've got a good one for ya, she'll say on the phone. Or she'll ask hopefully, Are you going to use this on your website? Huh huh? Famous among dozens. But lately they've all been school stories, not ones I can repeat online without fear of retribution from the Department of Education or deranged parents. She was in a somewhat melancholy, philosophical mood. She just told us about the little kid who wrote a "death threat" to another little kid on the toilet wall. With a piece of grass. "Who would have thought you could write with a piece of grass?" "Well some blades of grass are quite thick and juicy. Inky." She looked into the distance, shaking her head sadly. "You know what's happening here?" she mused. "We're just like the rats and mice." Stunned silence from Rhiannon and I. "Well, think about rats and mice. They breed like… rats and mice. Their world is so overcrowded and dirty!" "Yes?" "And look what happened to them! Their world got crazy. So what did they do? They turned on each other. Violence! No respect! Biting each others tails off! Hitting each other on the head with hockey sticks! Some of them became cannibals!" "Do you have evidence to back this up?" "And that's what's happened to the humans. We're going the way of the rats and mice. Everything's dysfunctional. Overpopulated. And it makes me so sad. People just don't care about people anymore!" "But we live in the sticks, Mum. It's not crowded here. You haven't really thought this through have you?" "Hey! This is something I've been pondering a lot. It keeps popping back into my head at night. So it must mean something."