I am thinking that maybe it was a mistake.
When I told you yesterday that I had met a young woman, cycling along
the pavement towards me, singing “Row, row, row the boat!” at the top of her voice, you will remember that it put me in mind of that lovely saying about “singing like nobody is listening.” However I have just had another thought. Could
it possibly be that there was a small person, strapped into a child seat, on the back of her bicycle? Perhaps, just perhaps, All Was Not As It Seemed.
I will be
singing “Row, row, row the boat” myself today as it is one of Young Faris’s favourites. He will be here any minute now and I am all ready. In particular, out on the floor I have assembled his new play mat, given me by my lovely
niece who no longer has need of it, her Delightful Threesome being long past babyhood. As play mats go, it is both bright and beautiful and depicted thereon are a regular feast of colourful characters, all of whom will need to be named over the course
of the next few months.
And they are here! They surge into the living room and, as usual Mr B is first to claim grandparental rights. Ah, well, it is Father’s
Day tomorrow so I am prepared to forgive him. Faris has bought his Grandad a mug inscribed “I love (heart shape) my Grandad.” This goes down very well, what a clever little chap he is, to be sure. I imagine he had a little bit of help...
The Middle of the Darling Daughters is determined that it will be Third Time Lucky and we will manage a proper walk along the prom, prom, prom this afternoon. Regular readers
will remember that on her last two visits, we set off with best intentions to walk up an appetite and were beset (and bested) by strong coastal winds which we immediately nicknamed “Windy Millers”. So strong they were, and so cold with it, that
on both occasions we had to take refuge in coffee shops. Not that there is anything wrong with coffee shops, in fact we are more than likely to end up in one whenever we go out, Windy Miller or not. Today the sun was shining, the skies were blue,
it was totally perfect. Apart, that is, from a very definite Windy Miller.
Straight after lunch we packed Babe and Baggage into the car and set off for the sea-front.
It was blowing a gale, whipping up the sea horses so that they raced into the shore like Grand National winners every one of them. We set off, at a fine old pace, if not quite Grand National standard, making for the Lido and congratulating ourselves on our
progress. At one point along the way we did acknowledge that it might be just a little bit harder on the way back.
That was putting it mildly. Buffeted by the
wind whipping our faces, we clung onto Super Buggy for dear life and struggled valiantly to put one foot in front of the other. Half-way back to the car we stopped for a break on a seat dedicated to “Arf” and inscribed “No More Pain.”
Most fitting, we thought, resting our aching legs before rising as one and ploughing on. It was, quite possibly, the most exhilarating walk along the prom, prom, prom ever. And I mean ever.
We arrive home with chapped cheeks and that wonderful, healthy feeling you get when you have tackled the elements and beaten them. Or, perhaps not beaten them but at least survived all they had to throw at you. We won’t
need rocking tonight, we tell each other. Are you listening, Faris?
We Skype the Little Welsh Boys so that they can see their baby cousin. Young Morgan is walking
here, there and everywhere, arms held high to help his balance, grinning away at us with the justifiable pride that comes with having mastered a new art. “Look at me!” he seems to say. Sam solemnly reads us from his work book and shows us his super
neat writing. I remark on his excellent use of finger spaces (I am good at such things.) Guess who was so good at school this week that he was given Pudsey Bear to look after for the weekend? When my Foursome were small it used to be the Class Hamster,
I seem to remember, and I always dreaded that we would accidentally kill it with kindness before Monday morning. As for James, he will find out whose class he will be in when he starts school in September. Oh how my Little Welsh Boys are growing up!
It will be a good thing indeed if I don’t need rocking tonight for I have to be up with the lark tomorrow, ready to fly off on holiday. I’ll be back soon enough,
hopefully with lots of blog-worthy stories.
Watch this space!