You cannot simultaneously prevent and prepare for war.

Back from the breach, dear readers, if only for a brief respite. I return to you today to report on conditions on the front line, where war rages back and forth in a dance that imitates that eternal tumultuous tango between the frothing, foaming charge of Poseidon’s aqueous cavalry and the immovable defence of Gaia’s rock-faced shield bearers.

There have been many battles, some won by your humble narrator and many lost to the forces of chaos. Indeed it seems to me that the mini-Melmoth is nothing more than a channelling device for Zuvassin, Nurgle, Tzeentch and others of their kith, each one taking turns to manifest itself and unleash the essence of one of its many aspects onto the poor unsuspecting Stalwart Alliance of Parenting Supplicants. There was the Battle of Watery Loo, where the forces of chaos unleashed a hitherto unimagined projectile assault, a torrent of Tummy Tika Masala which at once both impressed and horrified those of us in the firing line and redefined the term ‘carpet bombing’. The Battle of the Reflux Drift was a partial victory for the SAPS, with the forces of chaos unleashing a voluminous regurgitated bile attack that was fully anticipated thanks to our newly developed VOMDAR, and deflected through the judicious use of anti-barf baffles. However, the victory was short-lived, for with their ranged artillery disabled temporarily, the forces of chaos had to wait but for a brief interval before a gap in our defences – the changing of the nappy guard – occurred, whence they released their ground troops upon us, the main bulk of their arsenal, the easily replenished expendable force, the infantwee.

And so the war rages ever on, and for all the horror stories recounted here and elsewhere, the two opposing forces seem relatively balanced in strength, although the underhand tactics of sleep deprivation and noise pollution by the forces of chaos have perhaps yet to exact their full toll.

But I’ll tell you the difficult thing, the curious thing, the exasperating thing: and that is fighting an enemy that you love unconditionally beyond all other things. An enemy that you want to protect and nurture. An enemy who, outside of the context of your minor skirmishes, is as defenceless and helpless as… well, a newborn child.

Ah well. Once more unto the breach… and all that.