Saturday, February 18, 2017

Watch out Dunoon.

Kids who don't want to go to bed will spin out any story or excuse to lengthen the goodnight chit-chat. Tonight Tess was asking to go on holiday and I reminded her of the time we went to Dunoon. 

The weather could not have been more face-slapping-ly horrible (bitter wind and rain - it was February; I was deluded). At the time, aged 3, she declared that she never wanted to go to Dunoon again.

As I tucked her in tonight (aged nearly 7) to stall me, she rambled on that she had a very important job to do:  shutting down Dunoon forever. (Sorry Dunoon, it's not personal). Right Mummy, she said - these are the things I will need to do this job. Can you write them down?

A motorbike that shoots out fire
A gorilla and two monkeys
Chopsticks (for poking people)...and
Donald Trump.

Dunoon, I will defend you.

Tuesday, February 07, 2017

The Tour Bus, Homework and People Going to Aviemore

I tell the kids that Daddy has to sleep on the tour bus. Naturally there are queries.

Tess: I know this sounds silly, (coy giggle) but how can the driver drive if daddy is snoring in the night? 

(Probably a disingenuous question to work her way in. I explain that the bus engine is usually louder than any random snorer within said bus).

Tess: (sudden righteousness) But what about the other people? Like the people going to Aviemore?! 

(I see a clutch of outdoor fanatics in North Face jackets and woolly hats sitting bolt upright on the Teenage Fanclub tour bus as the band snore peacefully in trademark harmonies. The bus hurtles on through various European cities where the band wake and can't escape the desire to apologise for Brexit, either verbally or with resigned shrugs).

Me: (attempting the parental 'kind' laugh) It's in Europe...

Tess: Well, maybe the people going to Russia?!

I explain further about the bunk beds with curtains. I'm glad I'm not in the bunk beds with curtains.

Tess: So is the bus, like, the size of this room?

Me: No, it's....bus-shaped.  A cuboid. 

(I'm pleased I have crow-barred in the word cuboid, as homework this week is the difference between a cube and a cuboid).

Ah well, back to the ol' poetry lark. The metaphorical bus tour of the mind. Where to next?