‘It’s not polite to count nits,’ said his younger brother, Perfect Peter, wiping his mouth with his spotless napkin. ‘Is it, Mum?’ ‘It certainly isn’t,’ said Mum. Dad dragged the nit comb across his head and made a face. ‘Ugjj,’ said Dad. Mum dragged the comb through her hair, ‘Bleccch,’ said Mum. Mum combed Perfect Peter’s hair. Then she did it again. And again. And again. ‘No nits, Peter,’ said Mum, smiling. ‘As usual. Well done, darling.’ ‘It’s because I wash and comb my hair every night,’ said Peter.”