I’d like to climb inside your stocking and just sit there for a little while as you carry me around. I’d have to make myself really small, of course. Which is hard when I’m around you because you make me feel ten feet tall. And you’re five feet exactly. Which is less. But then if I were small enough to fit into your stocking, I’d probably find it hard to get in. I could ask you! I suppose! But I don’t want to be a burden. So… I think maybe I’d suggest we go for a lovely walk, in Hampstead Heath. To that nice spot with the big tree with leaves of three different colours, where the afternoon light makes it look like a Rowntrees Fruit Pastille ice lolly. And I’d walk us through some spikey undergrowth and, oh no! oh dear, look darling I’ve laddered my tights. But it’s okay because a ladder is just what I wanted. So then I’d shrink myself down, and climb up that little ladder, and get in and nuzzle myself against your lower leg, and you’d laugh about it and carry me home.