The Trio of Rampaging Rascals arrived yesterday, firing on all cylinders. And that was before the Easter Chocolate Fix.
had been agonising about the optimum time to hide their Easter eggs so that they would not be a Molten Mess when the Trio finally uncovered them. It is true I didn’t estimate the Rascals would take too long to follow the Easter Trail I had set -
but the sun was very, very hot and there wasn’t too much shade in our south-facing back garden. The Youngest of the Darling Daughters, travelling down with her sister and the Trio (she is just like me, can’t bear to miss out on anything) messaged
to say that, if necessary, we could make the Trail the very first activity on our Splendid Afternoon of Easter Related Silliness.
In previous years my Easter
Trails for the Trio have been marked out with colourful mega blocks but this year I reckoned we should move on to a Woodland Trail of the type much beloved of my Brownie Guides in the days when I was a Brown Owl (known by the Brownies’ dads as “Brown
Ale” for completely inexplicable reasons.) I thought it might be a step too far to introduce the Rascals to the full menu of woodland trail signs, so I decided to stick to arrows, just for this year. Next year I may introduce other signs, incorporating
stones as well as sticks and finding space for my favourite - the ring of stones with one in the middle which means “Gone Home”. I may have it inscribed on my tombstone though it’s unlikely anybody will (i) remember and (ii) think it a good
You have never seen arrows the size of those with which I marked out the path to the Easter Treasure. They were simply huge, being left over from last year
when I pruned the buddleia bush to drastic effect. I also had a few cardboard signs cut out from the box containing the Egg Hunt purchased from Tesco’s a week ago (I have no doubt other supermarkets are selling equally exciting Easter Egg Hunts - they
wouldn’t want to miss out, now would they?!) The signs provided information such as “This Way”, “Getting Warmer” and “Over Here”. I calculated that Young Faris would enjoy displaying his reading skills to his sisters.
I was correct in assuming the Rascals would suss out the Trail in no time at all. It was possibly a mistake to allow them to find and devour the chocolate eggs before we
served up lunch in the back garden but, you know, Timing Isn’t Everything. Whatever the sensible people say.
After lunch in the garden and about the
time the Rascals rediscovered the water butt and decided to water anything and everything in the garden, we decided to give their Grandad a break and take them off for a couple of hours of seaside fun. Should we be unable to find parking spaces in the car
park opposite the hospital, I suggested, we would opt for Plan B and head for the other end of town. As it turned out, the car park was all but empty; my daughters kept teasing me by saying what a good job it was that we had turned up early...
We scooted through Beach House Park; played in the newly reinstated East Beach sandpit - we didn’t find any hidden treasure, not actually being sure what we were digging for;
made up tales with the help of brightly coloured story stones on sale in one of the beach hut art studios; and walked along Worthing Pier (Pier of the Year 2019) to buy ice creams at the best value refreshment kiosk in town. It was very, very hot but the Trio
didn’t flag for an instant. Unlike others I could mention.
Back home there was an Easter cake to decorate with mini eggs and jelly chicks (“Another
sugar rush!” mourned the Trio’s Mum.) Plus I nearly forgot that other Easter Tradition, the classic Potato and Spoon Race. Which is like an egg and spoon race but, kind of, more robust. The Trio were already in their pyjamas but that simply added
a certain edge to the occasion.
“Remember I love you very, very much!” I told each of the Trio as I bade them farewell. It’s what I tell each
and every one of my Tremendous Ten grandchildren, old and young, at the end of their precious visits. Young Morgan, Youngest of the (Not So Very Little) Welsh Boys, sweetly reprimanded me after a particular fun-filled and crazy visit: “ I always remember
that!” Perhaps he reckons it goes without saying?
He may, of course, be right...