Small Boy stretches and yawns. "I think I had a dream last night that I was a pirate," he says.
"You think you did?" I ask.
"Yes. Well, I must've done, cos when I woke up, my duvet was twisted round the wrong way."
"Still not following," I murmur as I dole out slices of toast and cups of hot chocolate.
"Well, see, pirates steer their ships backwards, don't they? So that must be why my duvet was round the wrong way. S'obvious - I must've twisted it round thinking that I was steering the ship."
Daughter rolls her eyes, flicks her hair and puts her hands on her hips. "You utter numpty!" she cries. "Pirates do not steer backwards! If they did, they wouldn't be able to see where they were going. Unless they had wing mirrors - hey, that would be so cool! Huge great wing mirrors on the sides of the ship!"
Small Boy is getting huffy. "Well, it's not like there's anything for the pirates to bash into on the sea, so it doesn't matter if they can't see where they are going."
I swear as I trip over Psycho Cat who is having an argument with a Daddy-Long-Legs and has got the dog over-excited into the bargain.
Daughter is now explaining in her I'm-trying-to-be-patient-but-you-are-all-losers voice that pirates have "steering wheel thingies" and that they don't all row backwards in a line "like in those lame boats Mum likes".
Of course, this is all my fault. I should have known. This latest of Small Boy's delusions is clearly down to my yelling at the television during the Boat Race. But it turns out, this is the least of my worries.
"Anyway, it doesn't matter which way they steer," he announces, with a defiant toss of his head. "What I was going to say is, if I ever get the chance to be a pirate, I will definitely be a Traditional one."
"A Traditional one?" Husband repeats in alarm, looking up from his BlackBerry.
If he was worried when his son announced his intention to wear tights on his head and do an impression of Kate Winslet in Titanic, he is going to be on the verge of a nervous breakdown once he hears Small Boy's latest sartorial plans. I can feel it in my bones, me hearties. I hold my breath and wait for the accusations to fly: "You were the one who let him dress up as Cinderella when he was two!" (In my defence, he did look cute.)
"Yes, a Traditional one - you know, one which dresses properly, not one of these modern ones," Small Boy says with scorn.
"Oh yeah? So what will you wear?" Daughter asks, pursing her lips. She looks at me as if to say, "He will have NO IDEA what to wear."
It turns out she is wrong.
Small Boy beams. "Well," he says, holding up a hand to begin counting off on his fingers, "for a start I will wear a wooden leg. Then I will wear a hook on my arm. I will have a proper captain's hat, a parrot on my shoulder and a stripy T-shirt and I'll have a big Traditional Crew."
"A what?" we chorus.
"You know - a big Traditional Crew of men." He beams disconcertingly. "And I'll have a nice skull 'n' crossbones too. And swords and pistols hanging from my belt. Oh! And I'll steal sugar."
"You'll steal sugar," Husband repeats. He is beginning to sound like the imaginary parrot on Small Boy's shoulder.
"Yeah, I'm not going to steal all that boring stuff that modern pirates do. And I'm not going to kidnap anyone. I just want the sugar."
"Why?" I ask. I'm not really expecting an adequate answer, but I do feel the question needs to be asked.
"S'obvious," says Small Boy, raising his eyes to the ceiling. "In olden day times sugar was the most expensive thing, so that's why the Traditional Pirates stole it. And I like eating sugar cubes, so . . . " He spreads his hands and shrugs.
Daughter and I are heaving with silent mirth by now. Husband is shaking his head, eyes wide, and is backing away towards the door.
"So you are going to swing from the rigging of your Traditional Pirate boat in your Traditional Pirate gear," I say, between squeaks, "land on the deck of a Saga cruise ship, run to the dining hall and shout 'Shiver me Timbers!' and steal all the sugar bowls?"
"Yeah," says Small Boy, looking rather hurt at my giggling.
"We'd better warn the Aged Ps," says Husband with a knowing look. "You know how much they love their cruises."
"You think you did?" I ask.
"Yes. Well, I must've done, cos when I woke up, my duvet was twisted round the wrong way."
"Still not following," I murmur as I dole out slices of toast and cups of hot chocolate.
"Well, see, pirates steer their ships backwards, don't they? So that must be why my duvet was round the wrong way. S'obvious - I must've twisted it round thinking that I was steering the ship."
Daughter rolls her eyes, flicks her hair and puts her hands on her hips. "You utter numpty!" she cries. "Pirates do not steer backwards! If they did, they wouldn't be able to see where they were going. Unless they had wing mirrors - hey, that would be so cool! Huge great wing mirrors on the sides of the ship!"
Small Boy is getting huffy. "Well, it's not like there's anything for the pirates to bash into on the sea, so it doesn't matter if they can't see where they are going."
I swear as I trip over Psycho Cat who is having an argument with a Daddy-Long-Legs and has got the dog over-excited into the bargain.
Daughter is now explaining in her I'm-trying-to-be-patient-but-you-are-all-losers voice that pirates have "steering wheel thingies" and that they don't all row backwards in a line "like in those lame boats Mum likes".
Of course, this is all my fault. I should have known. This latest of Small Boy's delusions is clearly down to my yelling at the television during the Boat Race. But it turns out, this is the least of my worries.
"Anyway, it doesn't matter which way they steer," he announces, with a defiant toss of his head. "What I was going to say is, if I ever get the chance to be a pirate, I will definitely be a Traditional one."
"A Traditional one?" Husband repeats in alarm, looking up from his BlackBerry.
If he was worried when his son announced his intention to wear tights on his head and do an impression of Kate Winslet in Titanic, he is going to be on the verge of a nervous breakdown once he hears Small Boy's latest sartorial plans. I can feel it in my bones, me hearties. I hold my breath and wait for the accusations to fly: "You were the one who let him dress up as Cinderella when he was two!" (In my defence, he did look cute.)
"Yes, a Traditional one - you know, one which dresses properly, not one of these modern ones," Small Boy says with scorn.
"Oh yeah? So what will you wear?" Daughter asks, pursing her lips. She looks at me as if to say, "He will have NO IDEA what to wear."
It turns out she is wrong.
Small Boy beams. "Well," he says, holding up a hand to begin counting off on his fingers, "for a start I will wear a wooden leg. Then I will wear a hook on my arm. I will have a proper captain's hat, a parrot on my shoulder and a stripy T-shirt and I'll have a big Traditional Crew."
"A what?" we chorus.
"You know - a big Traditional Crew of men." He beams disconcertingly. "And I'll have a nice skull 'n' crossbones too. And swords and pistols hanging from my belt. Oh! And I'll steal sugar."
"You'll steal sugar," Husband repeats. He is beginning to sound like the imaginary parrot on Small Boy's shoulder.
"Yeah, I'm not going to steal all that boring stuff that modern pirates do. And I'm not going to kidnap anyone. I just want the sugar."
"Why?" I ask. I'm not really expecting an adequate answer, but I do feel the question needs to be asked.
"S'obvious," says Small Boy, raising his eyes to the ceiling. "In olden day times sugar was the most expensive thing, so that's why the Traditional Pirates stole it. And I like eating sugar cubes, so . . . " He spreads his hands and shrugs.
Daughter and I are heaving with silent mirth by now. Husband is shaking his head, eyes wide, and is backing away towards the door.
"So you are going to swing from the rigging of your Traditional Pirate boat in your Traditional Pirate gear," I say, between squeaks, "land on the deck of a Saga cruise ship, run to the dining hall and shout 'Shiver me Timbers!' and steal all the sugar bowls?"
"Yeah," says Small Boy, looking rather hurt at my giggling.
"We'd better warn the Aged Ps," says Husband with a knowing look. "You know how much they love their cruises."
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