'It's storming!' my ten-year old son Pickle shouted from the balcony.

'Mom!' his twin Papad piped up hopefully, 'Can we go outside?'

I peered out. There was a strong whistling wind, and the rain had started to come down hard. I bit my lip, feeling my own child-like impulse to run out and play with my children. And then, a combination of intuition and sense came together and I said firmly 'Maybe after a while, it looks like it's going to be a bad storm.'

The twins groaned and Papad muttered bad-natu...