Child: “Where’s my *insert child’s object of choice*?” Adult: “Where you left it.” Child (pauses): “I don’t know where I left it. That’s why I’m asking you.” Adult: *surrenders*
The craze this time was folding paper napkins into neat narrow oblongs. There were also marbles and complicated card games. I resisted engagement with any of this, of course, relying on Z to do what grannies do on cool windy wet afternoons trapped in a caravan with two small energetically unfocussed children.
It wasn’t all like that, of course. We managed a fair bit of time on the beach, which had its usual effect on me. When I rashly suggested that we might try a different one (I targeted Manorbier, partly, if I’m honest, because I really like the Castle Inn there and carefully timed the trip to arrive spot on for lunch), once the wind had got the better of us and we’d agreed that wasn’t on, Gus and Zerlina made it quite clear that they would much rather be back on what, to my delight, they called ‘our beach’. (Technically, the correct term is ‘the local beach’, as my brother and sister will confirm, but hey, ‘our’ will do.)
I also welled up, briefly, when they came back up to the van and proudly announced that they’d once again climbed ‘Tim’s Rock’. (Again, it’s more properly called ‘The Big Rock’, but hey again.)
There’s more. I’ll post again tomorrow.
Still no rabbits. I blame Joseph’s new lawnmower.