Henceforth plasticine will not be welcome in my house.
My daughter and her children have gone back home for a couple of days before normal grandmotherly services are resumed, and thus I have been sorting out the finer points of tidying up.
We have had quite a good supply of plasticine, so as to encourage creativity and imagination, but NO MORE. I have spent the evening crawling around on hands and knees, finding and discarding minute globules of plasticine and removing it from every conceivable surface and object. Plasticine has been discovered - and I don't believe it to be some kind of monstrous growth - on the lamps, joining many objects together, in imitation connection mechanisms, in magnetic toys, pen tops, walls, desks, chairs, keyboards and desk supports. It has also been ground into and inextricably blended with the nasty synthetic carpet in the middle level of the house, giving a certain malign spottiness and grottiness to said unlovely substance. Practically every screwdriver I possess has been removed from its proper resting place, from which it should be removed only in cases of severe emergency, and is now bedecked and bedewed with spicks and specks and spots and suspect purposes. Even though I have crawled feverishly around the house, it is extremely likely that in the days and weeks to come, more strange uses of plasticine will emerge from their chrysalises, and begin their breeding process yet again.
I am sorry, Grandson, but from today plasticine is no longer welcome in my house. I will read you stories instead. Or make you play Scrabble or Snakes and Ladders.