There comes a time to many of us when we just don’t feel like being An Adult. What we really, really want is to be a Big Kid - if just for One Day Only.
Fortunately for me, whenever I feel like pretending to be six again, I have an able accomplice in the Youngest of the Darling Daughters who, like me, occasionally wants to lay aside All Things Grown-Up to be replaced with
some sheer fun.
Wednesday was such a day. With two whole hours at our disposal while the Lovely Kay kept Mr B company, we set off for the sea-side where freedom
beckoned. (Mr B, in case you are worrying about his well-being was perfectly happy, especially as Kay arrives every week with a generous helping of the most delicious chips from our local chippie.)
It wasn’t the first time we became Big Kids for the day. We still remember, with delight, the Big Kids Day we spent in Littlehampton a couple of years back, when we built a sandcastle, rode along the prom (prom, prom)
in the celebrated Boat Train, ate hot doughnuts on the beach and paddled in the sea. On that occasion, we actually invented an Imaginary Child so that people watching our antics wouldn’t think we were totally mad. “Don’t go too far out!”
we called out to our invisible littl’un as we splashed each other in the shallows. Our Imaginary Child is far more adventurous than I - she swims underwater, dives into the waves on her surfboard, doesn’t mind one little bit if she finds herself
out of her depth. She is the Child I would like to have been, braver, less timid, more, well, buoyant....
On Wednesday there wasn’t quite enough time for
sandcastle building while the wind chill put paid to paddling. But, hey, there was the putting green beckoning - such fun! The fella in charge of the green seemed to understand, without either of us saying a word, that we had reverted to childhood as he voluntarily
charged us the rate for the under-12s. Either that or, my daughter worried, maybe he thought we were both senior citizens? Perish the thought! I said. Loyally.
used to be pretty good at putting in the days when Mr B and I were courting (lovely, old-fashioned word that, don’t you agree?) as it was just about the cheapest way of spending an afternoon. Not quite as cheap as sitting all afternoon over a single
milky coffee in Pelosi’s coffee bar but more often than not we used to be driven out after an hour by the scowls of the proprietor.
Sadly, my prowess
with the putter has declined in the ensuing years so that even the younger grandchildren can beat me - I stood no chance at all against the Youngest of the Darling Daughters who won our mini competition by six shots. I did, however, almost cover myself with
glory by scoring a hole in one. I kid you not (no pun intended) I was so, so close. The ball shot straight from my putter to the hole in a straight line, negotiating the uneven terrain with ease - only to ping off the flag in the hole and end up a few feet
away. So near, yet so far...
We returned our equipment, then made for the playground on the beach - the Rascally Trio call it Shark Park though it isn’t
as alarming as that sounds, the shark in question being made of wood. It does sport, to be fair, a pretty impressive set of gnashers. Big Kids that we were, we enjoyed ourselves immensely. Fortunately there was no one else around so we didn’t need to
call on our Imaginary Child to cover our blushes as we swung, climbed, and giggled our way around the playground.
Should you find the grown-up world becoming a
little bit too much for you too, I can thoroughly recommend a Big Kids Day Out. Just imagine you are six years old again and behave accordingly.
If it would help,
I’m happy for you to borrow my Imaginary Child?
For one day only, you understand...