Such a lot can change in eighteen months.
That’s how long it was since Mr B and I welcomed our (Not So Very Little)
Welsh Boys and their parents to our house. The Pesky Pandemic has such a lot to answer for.
That’s what I was thinking as I wandered around the Co-op (other
supermarkets are doubtless just as convenient) trying to work out what food I should serve up for my visitors during their stay. Food is love, don’t they say? Would they love me the less should I select the “wrong” breakfast cereal on the
basis that this was their favourite eighteen months ago?
Would Young Morgan still be happy to sleep in the camp bed at the end of my bed - or will he consider
himself too old these days? Would he still want to climb into my bed first thing in the morning for Early Morning Discussions on Matters of Importance? Such as the unfairness in making him the youngest member of the tribe when, while small of stature, he is
mighty of heart and surely has the potential to be Head Honcho?
Has the passage of time lessened their delight in traditional offerings such as Ready Jelly Go
traffic light jellies (recipe on my Cook Book page!) Will James (the Middle Boy) remember that he and I always formed the “Jeb-Jab” team for the purposes of family games, based on our initials in case you are wondering. Would Sam, the Eldest, now
tower above me?
I don’t know why I worried. From the moment the family decamped from their car (I was quite proud of the fact that I’d remembered to
leave my car further up the drive so there was room for theirs) it was just like old times. Yes, it is true that Sam is now clearly several inches taller than me - but his growth spurt meant that he was able to help his dad retrieve our two seater sofa from
the garage so that everybody had somewhere to sit. Young Morgan clearly expected nothing less than his favoured sleeping spot at the end of my bed and determined to continue my education into All Things Pokemon with early evening lessons, followed by even
earlier morning tests on what I had learnt so far. I was invited to take a different toy to bed with me each night - I felt like a Wanton Woman.
Time was short
so, as usual, we had to pack a lot in to our days. A trip to Clip and Climb for the boys was followed by Adventure Golf for all six of us. My Boy suggested we pay for four and take turns at each hole but where was the fun in that? I had been secretly longing
for an opportunity to take in this particular course with its jungle animals, devious twists and turns and loudspeakers at the start of every hole, making me jump with unexpected sound effects, from elephants trumpeting to the noise of a jeep engine trying
unsuccessfully to fire up. The Darling Daughter in Law was in excellent form, winning our family competition by two strokes; her master stroke was when she accidentally hit her golf ball into a stream - only to find it carried along by the current, ending
up scoring a hole in one. I now have a new Profound Saying should anyone find themselves faced with an impossible challenge. “Take the water route!” I will tell them. They won’t know what I’m talking about, of course, but I will sound
very wise. Or, possibly, not.
Our lunch barely escaped ruin because everybody thought somebody else was in charge of the cooking but I like to think that my apple
pie saved the day. Plus, after a trip to the sea-front with a diversion into the Amusements on the Pier (of which more in tomorrow’s Daily Blog - believe me, you won’t want to miss it) we had Afternoon Tea in the Room Outdoors to look forward to,
a belated birthday present complete with festive fizz.
Such a joyful day. Everything changes - but, somehow, everything stays the same…