Small is lost!

As I write this we are c.200 miles south if Calais, about a third of the way through today's road trip.  We have just stopped to refuel, take on more coffee (for Gaz) and make use of the, surprisingly nice, service station loos. We haven't yet decided if we are on a 2 or 3 stop strategy. My bladder is the weakest link, so I am on a reduced fluid intake in the hope we can minimise our time off road.

In the back we have a sleeping girl.  I am sorry to report, she cried herself to sleep when, after creating a snuggly nest for herself in the duvet, she prepared to snuggle up with Small and go to sleep. But there is no Small, Small is lost!

Mummy didn't put Small in the bag this morning, Ellie didn't bring Small with her, Daddy was asked, in faint hope, rather then expectation, if he had picked up Small this morning; he hadn't. Daddy's negative was couched in such terms as to make it absolutely clear that remembering to retrieve a precious snuggly mouse from a hotel room in the early hours of the morning is most definitely a 'girl job' and only a negligent mother, looking to apportion blame elsewhere for the consequences of her own, obviously lax, parenting, would dare to even hint it otherwise.

So here we are, driving through no man's land, with a heartbroken, mouse-less daughter. A hopeful email has been dispatched to Folkestone Holiday Inn Express, seeking reassurance that Small did, indeed, prefer to holiday in Kent and will be waiting for us when we come home.

**Update**

Not good news from Folkestone.  No sign of Small. We may have to face the possibility of a permanent estrangement.  Eleanor has gone to sleep snuggling Marmot. He does his best, but he is no Small.