I realise that Tumble is not with the other three and go on the hunt, to discover her in her bedroom trying to glue the paper from her new shoe box to the shoebox itself with toothpaste.
“Wash hands!” she says, when she sees me.
We go into the bathroom, which has been transformed into a shrine to the art of toothpaste.
There is not one surface that has not been adorned with the stuff. There is a particular work of swirly modern art on the toilet seat that had been created with aid of her sister’s toothbrush and the bath has been given over to a creation in the style of Jackson Pollock.