Saturday Morning With Jack Tame

It was Murphy’s Law, of course. An inevitable that’ll-teach-ya for breaking one of the golden laws of parenting: never take off a nappy if you don’t have a replacement immediately to hand.    Especially when your six-week-old baby has been stewing and straining and writhing in his cot. And double-especially (that’s a thing) when he just had the live rotavirus vaccine and it’s playing havoc with his belly.    It was just as I bent his legs up and put a little squeeze on his stomach that I sensed it. Something in the air. A drop in barometric pressure. A little facial expression, perhaps.   It might have been 2am but I threw myself back and across the room, out of the line of fire. It was like that scene in The Matrix, where time stops and Neo dodges bullets.    You know in a horror movie when someone has their throat slit, and the blood sprays on the wall? It’s a pattern, an arc, a kind of parabola of crimson gore.    It was like that. Except yellow. An explosion of