It is the holidays. The children are bemoaning the fact that we not doing "anything interesting".
"It's not fair!" wails Daughter. "We only ever go to Cornwall. And it always rains."
"Lucky we're not going there this holiday, then," I say.
"NOO! But staying at home is EVEN WORSE!"
"Anyway, what's wrong with Cornwall? You love Cornwall," I say.
"Ye-es, butanywaythat'snotthepoint," Daughter says with a withering look. "What I mean is that Everyone Else is going somewhere fantastic. Libbie is going to the Caribbean, Lobbie is going to Italy and Loobie is going to Egypt. And as for Millie, Mollie and Mandie--"
"Yeah AND," cuts in Small Boy, "Ollie is going to New York."
Husband and I exchange a look.
"So where would you like to go?" Husband asks (the children, not me I should add).
"Riding in America!" cries Daughter.
"Exploring in the Galapagos!" yells Small Boy.
Bugger that Charles Darwin, I think.
"Or Madagascar!" shrieks Small Boy.
And as for that David Attenborough . . .
"OK, OK," Husband has held up a hand in an attempt to look as though he has control of the situation. "I must admit I was thinking more along the lines of Spain or Portugal, but . . ." he smiles indulgently at Small Boy. "What if I promise that when you get Grade 8 Trombone I'll take you to the Galapagos."
I look horrified. "I know we want him to practise more, but--"
"Yes, erm . . ." Husband is already regetting his rashness. "Maybe if you get Grade 8 Trombone AND piano and Daughter gets Grade 8 violin--"
"And I get a film deal," I add with heavy sarcasm.
"Oh, I've already had one of those," says Small Boy airily.
"Yeah, right," says Daughter with an extravagant eye-roll.
"I did," Small Boy protests. "But I had to turn it down because I was going to play at William's."
Husband and I exchange another look.
"What was the role you were offered?" I ask.
"It was to be a giant Easter Egg Superhero," Small Boy announces.
"And how exactly can a giant Easter Egg be a superhero?" asks Daughter.
"Easy, you roll over your enemies and SQUASH THEM FLAT!" Small Boy replies, with a victory salute.
"Wow," I say. "Shame you turned down the roll."
"Why's that?"
"Sounds like it would have been a box office hit." I sigh. "Oh well, looks like it's Cornwall again for us this summer . . ."
"It's not fair!" wails Daughter. "We only ever go to Cornwall. And it always rains."
"Lucky we're not going there this holiday, then," I say.
"NOO! But staying at home is EVEN WORSE!"
"Anyway, what's wrong with Cornwall? You love Cornwall," I say.
"Ye-es, butanywaythat'snotthepoint," Daughter says with a withering look. "What I mean is that Everyone Else is going somewhere fantastic. Libbie is going to the Caribbean, Lobbie is going to Italy and Loobie is going to Egypt. And as for Millie, Mollie and Mandie--"
"Yeah AND," cuts in Small Boy, "Ollie is going to New York."
Husband and I exchange a look.
"So where would you like to go?" Husband asks (the children, not me I should add).
"Riding in America!" cries Daughter.
"Exploring in the Galapagos!" yells Small Boy.
Bugger that Charles Darwin, I think.
"Or Madagascar!" shrieks Small Boy.
And as for that David Attenborough . . .
"OK, OK," Husband has held up a hand in an attempt to look as though he has control of the situation. "I must admit I was thinking more along the lines of Spain or Portugal, but . . ." he smiles indulgently at Small Boy. "What if I promise that when you get Grade 8 Trombone I'll take you to the Galapagos."
I look horrified. "I know we want him to practise more, but--"
"Yes, erm . . ." Husband is already regetting his rashness. "Maybe if you get Grade 8 Trombone AND piano and Daughter gets Grade 8 violin--"
"And I get a film deal," I add with heavy sarcasm.
"Oh, I've already had one of those," says Small Boy airily.
"Yeah, right," says Daughter with an extravagant eye-roll.
"I did," Small Boy protests. "But I had to turn it down because I was going to play at William's."
Husband and I exchange another look.
"What was the role you were offered?" I ask.
"It was to be a giant Easter Egg Superhero," Small Boy announces.
"And how exactly can a giant Easter Egg be a superhero?" asks Daughter.
"Easy, you roll over your enemies and SQUASH THEM FLAT!" Small Boy replies, with a victory salute.
"Wow," I say. "Shame you turned down the roll."
"Why's that?"
"Sounds like it would have been a box office hit." I sigh. "Oh well, looks like it's Cornwall again for us this summer . . ."
Ah, but bonus this time...you get stuck with us!! Mwahhahhahh!!! ;-) xXx
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