I am at a party. There is a barbecue and Pimms and a garden full of toys, large and small, to entertain a gang of children, who are similarly large and small. What do you reckon the Little Welsh Boys and their friends
are playing? They are, Young James informs me, making cement. This is about par for the course in the Land of the Little Welsh Boys.
The poor chap whose house
and garden we have invaded watches askance as a whole army of small children transport earth from his vegetable bed and mix it with water from the garden tap in a rectangular receptacle. “We need more lumps!” someone calls and off they all scoot,
some armed with seaside buckets, others with spades and one with a small, plastic wheelbarrow. Whatever happened to Pass the Parcel and Musical Chairs?
Boy is Evan, who is two years old. He is the Duracell Bunny's friend from nursery and tomorrow he will be guest of honour at Morgan's second birthday party. But today is Evan's day, complete with Peppa Pig cake. I am a gate-crasher but nobody seems to mind
me tagging along with the rest of the family, invited or not. Evan's grandmother has whipped up a delicious trifle and a delectable strawberry flan which makes me feel a little guilty as I have not cooked up so much as a currant bun for Morgan's party tomorrow.
To be fair, travelling by train would have made it difficult to bring anything with me – but I suppose I could have woken up early today and made my presence felt in the kitchen.
Mostly, I just play. Playing is something I have always been quite good at, though I say it myself as shouldn't. This morning Morgan and I played our own version of Jolly Hockey Sticks while his big brothers were at swimming lessons
with their Dad and his Mum was at the garage trying to persuade the mechanic that, yes, she had booked her car in for its MOT. Morgan may be only not quite two but he has a vicious swing. It's a good thing we were playing with small plastic balls, not those
horrible hard ones I remember from my school days.
When the Big Boys returned they set about rehearsing Act 3 of The Meerkat Mystery, the first two Acts of which
they had perfected the previous day. I made the mistake of asking what was going on, only to be told that if I had been paying due attention yesterday I wouldn't need to ask.
Obviously, Evan's party was the Big Event of the day. We scooted round to the Party Boy's house. Well, I didn't scoot myself – I pushed Morgan on his little trike there and back. He kept holding up one hand to signal “Stop!” for absolutely
no reason that I could fathom, but you don't argue with a Duracell Bunny, not if you know what's good for you.
The bath water tonight was a murky shade of grey
once we had washed the three of them clean. What was the best bit of the day, I asked Sam and James as I tucked them into bed. Silly question, really. “Making cement!” they chorussed.
Tomorrow it is our turn to host a party. The Darling Daughter-in-Law is in the kitchen, even as I type this blog, cooking The Cake. She has already fashioned a really rather splendid Iggle Piggle out of fondant icing, complete
with bright red iced blanket. I can't wait to see the finished article. The Darling Daughter in Law is having almost as much fun mixing the cake as her boys had mixing "cement." You can tell who they take after.
We can only hope that by tomorrow our little cement mixers will have turned their minds to a different – less messy – party activity and that we don't have a repeat performance, given that most of the star players
will be gathered together once more.
I'm not banking on it.