The Boy Wonder brought his mother to see us again today, and so as to give L the time and space to do some work R and I offered to take the Boy to Stratford Butterfly Farm. We had a good time, though if I’m honest I think the highlight for him was probably the dark chocolate Magnum we bought him on the way out, which he demolished with ruthless efficiency and not a single drip. He then said that he wanted to go to “the bit of Stratford where the shops are”, so we wandered over the Old Tramway Bridge and into town. As we passed the entrance to the Bancroft Gardens we stopped to watch this busker, who was making his robot puppet dance to a recording of old music hall songs, but the Boy was unimpressed. “Less go,” he said firmly after a very short time, and the episode was never referred to again.
He was very much more enthusiastic when we turned into Greggs on Bridge Street and said that he could choose his own lunch, and that we would take it back to the park and have a picnic. Just as we left the shop it began to rain, but I was determined to remain upbeat and said I was sure it was just a shower and would go over soon. So we went back onto the Bancroft, took shelter – along with about forty other people – under the big chestnut tree near the canal bridge, and ate our lunch sitting on the low wall that surrounds the tree roots. B was highly satisfied with his lunch choices, which were:
1. A summer fruit-flavoured Oasis – “Very refreshing!”;
2. A bag of Quavers – “Mmmm. These are really good. Would you like to try one, Grandma? I think you should. Here – have this one. It’s nice, isn’t it? Granddad, you should try one too. Here you go!”;
3. A warm pastry with bacon and cheese filling – “Mmmm. Tasty!”
4. A chocolate eclair – “I really like the chocolate. It’s delicious! But I don’t like this white stuff at all. What is it?”.
As I’d predicted, by the time we’d finished lunch the rain had stopped, so R and the Boy set off to walk across the bridge and along to where I’d parked at the far end of the rec’ car park, while I scuttled back up into town for (extremely necessary) wet wipes and stain removal products. I caught up with them just as they reached my car, by which time B was so tired he barely had time to demolish a Nakd bar from my emergency supply (“I call these date and chocolate bars – do you see? It’s what I call them, because they’ve got dates in them and they’re made out of chocolate. I don’t like those little tiny white bits though. What are those? Oh. Nuts. I don’t like nuts.”) before zonking out in his car seat. I drove the long way home to make sure he got a reasonable nap, and as I pulled into the drive he woke up, rubbed his eyes and said, “Well. That was fun!”
It certainly was – and if L’s eyes rolled a bit when I recited the list of inappropriate foods the Boy had consumed while we were out, she was far too wise to say anything. After all, living as far away as we do, Grandparent Rules don’t get applied very often.
