After breakfast (which for the Boy Wonder consisted of two pieces of wholemeal toast with chocolate hazelnut spread, three chocolate Weetabix, one Jelly Tot and an extra-strong mint), we asked B if he’d like to go to the Butterfly Farm in Stratford. “That’s a good idea!” he replied. “We haven’t been there for ages!”
So far, so good.
However. Five seconds after we walked into the flight room, a relatively small butterfly flew past the Boy at head height, and he completely freaked out. In fact the last time I saw a reaction from him as strong as this was on a visit to Slimbridge back when he was two, when someone in the ladies’ loo started the electric hand dryer, and he literally scaled my leg to get away from the noise. This time R was the climbing post, while I did my best to talk the Boy back into a more reasonable frame of mind, and completely failed. They may lack teeth, claws, and stings, but it appears at the moment that butterflies are completely repulsive.
R pointed out that we couldn’t go back through the entrance, but had to keep walking around till we reached the exit, at which the Boy took off like the Artful Dodger, squeezing through the crowd to try to complete the circuit as quickly as possible. R, setting off in pursuit, turned to me in passing and said, “It looks like we’ll be able to cost out this visit by the second.”
Fortunately for our plan to occupy an hour of the morning at the Butterfly Farm, just before they reached the exit R managed to divert the Boy into the quiet room at the back of the building, where there are glassed-in enclosures for various species of tropical insects, a Red-kneed Tarantula, a Leaf-cutter Ant colony, a Cayman, and some Plumed Basilisks. The Boy – who used to hate this room – was fascinated. He insisted that we had to search each enclosure until we’d tracked down the occupants, however well-disguised they were, and examined everything with great care and attention. Back in the flight room he bolted for the exit, and then spent twenty minutes examining everything in the gift shop with the same minute level of attention, before deciding on a kind of junior archaeology kit as his treat for the day.
By this time I’d have killed for a large brandy and half a pound of Belgian chocolate truffles as my own treat for the day, but as they weren’t on offer – I do think the Butterfly Farm is missing a significant commercial opportunity here – we walked into town and went to Nando’s instead. “I love Nando’s!” said the Boy, which in the wake of earlier events didn’t fill me with absolute confidence, but he polished off some chicken breast and a mango sorbet while R and I had salads, and lunch was judged a success. Then we made our way back to the car through a minor monsoon, and went home to do some archaeology.
R: L2, C4, D16.
