"The last shall be first.." so the saying goes. That was, indeed, the case when the (Not So Very Little) Welsh Boys telephoned their Grandad and me this morning.
just turned the key in the lock when the phone rang so I urged Mr B to answer it for me. When I happen to be out, Mr B keeps the phone in his shirt pocket so that he doesn't have to trail, painfully, into the hall to answer its demanding ring. It is fortunate,
on this occasion, that he doesn't take the momentary hesitation at the other end of the line for another nuisance call and respond in his customary fashion. Definitely not the way to greet the Duracell Bunny.
yes, it is he, the Youngest of the Boys, with a momentous piece of news to impart: he has won the Class Cup. I give up trying to struggle out of my coat and concentrate on communicating the heartiest of hearty congratulations. The Duracell Bunny basks in my
compliments, he is not the modest type.
Time was when I thought the Class Cup was an actual trophy - now I know better. The Class Cup is some kind of cuddly toy, be it bear or puppy or whatever and the winner
of said Cup earns the doubtful privilege of completing diary entries detailing the activities enjoyed by the Class Cup / Bear / Whatever while in his / her possession. It would be this weekend, bewails the Darling Daughter in Law when she manages to get a
word in edgeways, they haven't done anything worth writing about.
The Duracell Bunny tells me he had to go to watch his older brother's football. "I did NOT want to go!" he complains. Did he enjoy it, once
he got there? I ask, ever hopeful. He says, no, it was boring. He tells me about the latest book he is reading which is about horses. Does he like horses? I query but, no, he prefers puppies. We have a good discussion about his birthday which, we calculate
between us, is exactly two months and one day away and he tells me what he really, really wants as a present. I will need to check later with his parents in case I have got it wrong. There is one thing you have to say about the Duracell Bunny - he has the
most Definite of Opinions.
The Middle Boy, James, has been in the shower, washing off the muddy residue of his morning rugby session. He doesn't make it to the phone straightaway, however, having managed to
spend an inordinate amount of time in the shower without actually washing his face. He is sent back upstairs and Sam, the Eldest Boy, takes over the conversation from his littlest brother.
He tells me the
story of World Book Day when James decided to dress up as the main character in Time Travel with a Hamster. Well, no, not as the hamster, don't be silly, James always prefers to be a human, as regular readers will recall when he had the misfortune (in his
opinion) of being cast as an ox in a school nativity play. Unfortunately on this occasion our James left two vital elements of costume - a toy hamster and a cardboard laptop, fashioned with considerable skill and imagination (I presume) by his father - in
the classroom. This meant he joined the World Book Day School Parade looking more or less Just Like Himself.
For completeness, I need to tell you that Sam went as Harry Potter. I suspect this wasn't an original
choice but I wasn't going to point that out. Young Morgan went as one of the 101 Dalmatians. I am sure he looked adorable as a Dalmatian puppy but I wasn't going to point that out, either, because the Duracell Bunny is Keen To Be Cool - and adorable, I am
given to understand, is very definitely NOT cool.
Sam's main news is that, with Senior School beckoning in September, he is now the proud owner of a red Class of 17 Leavers' Shirt. He explains that
there is a large figure 17 on the back and the names of all those leaving Birchgrove School ("Where every child is a star") are printed inside either the 1 or the 7. Sam's name is second from the bottom on the 17. He will, he promises me, send me a photo as
soon as we have finished chatting.
James, he of the now clean face, returns to the phone to tell me the exciting tale of how he, along with his fellow members of the Heath Park Rangers Youth Football Club,
acted as Guard of Honour at Cardiff City Stadium. Yes, he remembered his flag, apparently...
I'm still not feeling Top 'o the Morning, as I'd say if it was still St Patrick's Day, but there are few things
more guaranteed to cheer me up than Conversations with My (Not So Very Little) Welsh Boys. I feel ridiculously bereft when they say a cheery goodbye, yelling "love you!" as they take their seats, noisily, at the lunch table.
Then the IPad pings and there are three photographs of Sam in his Class of 17 Leavers' Shirt. "Sent like I said," he has written, succinctly, above a line of different coloured hearts and smiley faces.
the Eldest of the (Not So Very Little) Welsh Boys is concerned, a promise is a promise. Bless him.