Living under a constant barrage of bad puns

As the three or four people who regularly read my husband's footling attempts at bloggery will know, he is a man dedicated to the pursuit of bad puns.
On Sunday I bought a new baby-gym for our six-month old son Guthlac, which has various dangly toys attached.
As Gyppo unpacked it, first to come to hand was a miniature stuffed flamingo. "Hey," he said, brightening up "We could call this Placido!"
But even this was acceptable compared to his next attempt to amuse Guthlac. Seizing a small blue and yellow monkey with elasticated limbs, he stretched the arms out to grotesque full length in turn, while singing "Mammeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee, mammeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee - de sun shines east, de sun shines west..." and so forth in the manner of Al Jolson.
Guthlac was only slightly amused.