We arrive at Favourite Uncle's new house with Small Boy in full Documentary Mode. He has decided to film us while we are staying with Uncle so that he can remember "e'vry single thing" that we do. I am hoping I will not wake up in the middle of the night to find him pointing his camera at me. And I am definitely planning on locking the bathroom door at all times.
"Trouble is," he says, as we go into the house, "what I really need is a tripod cos my hands keep getting all shaky while I'm filming. D'you think Uncle has a tripod I could borrow?"
It transpires that Uncle has only this afternoon acquired enough beds for us to sleep in, and his front room is still full of unpacked belongings, so I am hopeful that even if he had a tripod he would not be able to locate it.
The kids are in heaven, mainly because Husband's brother really is their Favourite Uncle and everything that he says and does seems to send them into paroxysms of unbridled joy. Even the fact that he does not have a telly seems to act in his favour. I toy with the idea of getting rid of ours once we get home, only to find myself mentally listing all the programmes that I would end up missing.
Within seconds of entering Uncle's house, Small Boy has found something fun to film: himself. Or more precisely, himself scaling the heights of the staircase as though he were a mountaineer. He delivers his documentary-maker's commentary in a breathy, Attenborough-esque style.
"And here we have the brave climber, struggling to reach the summit of Mount Stair-verest," he gasps, throwing himself forward at full stretch on to the staircase and reaching up to grab the step above him. "He throws his grappling hook up-- Mum, do you see how much better this film would be with a proper tripod?"
"Hmmm," I say. "You could argue it'd be better with a real mountain, too."
We decide to take the kids for a walk to get rid of some of the energy they have bottled up during the journey to Norwich.
"Let's walk into the city," Uncle suggests. "We can go and visit the Coleman's Mustard Shop!" The kids exchange dubious looks. This is not the kind of activity they are used to Uncle proposing. "Cos, guess what? There's a sweet shop next door!" he announces wickedly.
"Yay!" The kids are out the house like a shot. I make a mental note to try this line myself sometime.
Uncle is explaining that the quickest and most picturesque route into town is to go through his garden. I look out of the kitchen window and see a patio area with a gate at the end leading to a steep muddy, wooded bank. It is so steep, in fact, that it turns out the only means of scaling it is on all fours, clinging to branches for support as we go. The kids attack this challenge with enthusiasm and are at the top of the slope in a flash, while I am still untangling myself from brambles and nettles at the bottom.
"Must get a bit of rope to make that easier," says Uncle as he offers me a helping hand to pull me up to the top.
Husband has let his competitive spirit get the better of him and is already at the top with the kids, looking down at me and laughing.
"That was better than Mount Stair-verest!" giggles Small Boy.
I have to admit it is worth the climb. The autumn sun casts long shadows across the heath we are now walking on and the city buildings beneath us are bathed in golden light. We stroll into the centre along the riverside, visit the market to buy a selection of Norfolk cheeses, the mustard shop to buy Norfolk mustard (resisting the chocolate-chip flavoured variety) and the sweet shop to buy sweets from old-fashioned glass jars. Everyone's diverse tastes catered for, we start to make plans for the next 48 hours. The first idea is to hire a boat for a day trip on the Broads the next day. Small Boy is keen to do some bird watching. (And filming, of course.)
Husband decides this gives him the ideal excuse to buy a pair of binoculars, so he, Uncle and Small Boy disappear into a shop while I try to keep Daughter from going into a catatonic state of boredom at the very mention of the words "bird watching". We play The Weird Game which involves trying to spot the weirdest person in the street. The winner gets a quid. It's amazing how competitive you can get over a quid. Daughter wins hands down when she spots a woman wearing some neon pink furry things over her jeans which make her look as though she has neon pink woolly mammoth legs. We find this ludicrously amusing. It is worth losing a quid over, I feel.
Husband, Uncle and Small Boy eventually reemerge looking very pleased with themselves.
"Mission accomplished!" Husband announces, waving a package in the air.
"And I've got a gorilla pod!" Small Boy shouts, bouncing up and down with glee.
"A what?" says Daughter with more disdain than she showed for the neon pink Mammoth Woman.
"A gorilla pod!" repeats Small Boy. "It's a tripod which is ultra-bendy so you can clip it to anything so you can film anything anywhere! I can clip it up on the ceiling in my room at night and film myself sleeping!"
"Just as long as it is only yourself you're planning on filming at night," I say sternly.
"Yeah, 'course," says Small Boy. But he is not listening. I watch as he bends the gorilla pod around Uncle's wrist, giggling like a maniac.
I decide I'm going to lock the bedroom door as well as the bathroom now. Just in case.
"Trouble is," he says, as we go into the house, "what I really need is a tripod cos my hands keep getting all shaky while I'm filming. D'you think Uncle has a tripod I could borrow?"
It transpires that Uncle has only this afternoon acquired enough beds for us to sleep in, and his front room is still full of unpacked belongings, so I am hopeful that even if he had a tripod he would not be able to locate it.
The kids are in heaven, mainly because Husband's brother really is their Favourite Uncle and everything that he says and does seems to send them into paroxysms of unbridled joy. Even the fact that he does not have a telly seems to act in his favour. I toy with the idea of getting rid of ours once we get home, only to find myself mentally listing all the programmes that I would end up missing.
Within seconds of entering Uncle's house, Small Boy has found something fun to film: himself. Or more precisely, himself scaling the heights of the staircase as though he were a mountaineer. He delivers his documentary-maker's commentary in a breathy, Attenborough-esque style.
"And here we have the brave climber, struggling to reach the summit of Mount Stair-verest," he gasps, throwing himself forward at full stretch on to the staircase and reaching up to grab the step above him. "He throws his grappling hook up-- Mum, do you see how much better this film would be with a proper tripod?"
"Hmmm," I say. "You could argue it'd be better with a real mountain, too."
We decide to take the kids for a walk to get rid of some of the energy they have bottled up during the journey to Norwich.
"Let's walk into the city," Uncle suggests. "We can go and visit the Coleman's Mustard Shop!" The kids exchange dubious looks. This is not the kind of activity they are used to Uncle proposing. "Cos, guess what? There's a sweet shop next door!" he announces wickedly.
"Yay!" The kids are out the house like a shot. I make a mental note to try this line myself sometime.
Uncle is explaining that the quickest and most picturesque route into town is to go through his garden. I look out of the kitchen window and see a patio area with a gate at the end leading to a steep muddy, wooded bank. It is so steep, in fact, that it turns out the only means of scaling it is on all fours, clinging to branches for support as we go. The kids attack this challenge with enthusiasm and are at the top of the slope in a flash, while I am still untangling myself from brambles and nettles at the bottom.
"Must get a bit of rope to make that easier," says Uncle as he offers me a helping hand to pull me up to the top.
Husband has let his competitive spirit get the better of him and is already at the top with the kids, looking down at me and laughing.
"That was better than Mount Stair-verest!" giggles Small Boy.
I have to admit it is worth the climb. The autumn sun casts long shadows across the heath we are now walking on and the city buildings beneath us are bathed in golden light. We stroll into the centre along the riverside, visit the market to buy a selection of Norfolk cheeses, the mustard shop to buy Norfolk mustard (resisting the chocolate-chip flavoured variety) and the sweet shop to buy sweets from old-fashioned glass jars. Everyone's diverse tastes catered for, we start to make plans for the next 48 hours. The first idea is to hire a boat for a day trip on the Broads the next day. Small Boy is keen to do some bird watching. (And filming, of course.)
Husband decides this gives him the ideal excuse to buy a pair of binoculars, so he, Uncle and Small Boy disappear into a shop while I try to keep Daughter from going into a catatonic state of boredom at the very mention of the words "bird watching". We play The Weird Game which involves trying to spot the weirdest person in the street. The winner gets a quid. It's amazing how competitive you can get over a quid. Daughter wins hands down when she spots a woman wearing some neon pink furry things over her jeans which make her look as though she has neon pink woolly mammoth legs. We find this ludicrously amusing. It is worth losing a quid over, I feel.
Husband, Uncle and Small Boy eventually reemerge looking very pleased with themselves.
"Mission accomplished!" Husband announces, waving a package in the air.
"And I've got a gorilla pod!" Small Boy shouts, bouncing up and down with glee.
"A what?" says Daughter with more disdain than she showed for the neon pink Mammoth Woman.
"A gorilla pod!" repeats Small Boy. "It's a tripod which is ultra-bendy so you can clip it to anything so you can film anything anywhere! I can clip it up on the ceiling in my room at night and film myself sleeping!"
"Just as long as it is only yourself you're planning on filming at night," I say sternly.
"Yeah, 'course," says Small Boy. But he is not listening. I watch as he bends the gorilla pod around Uncle's wrist, giggling like a maniac.
I decide I'm going to lock the bedroom door as well as the bathroom now. Just in case.
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