Place of safety

The weather forecast was poor this morning, but the Boy Wonder wanted to feed some ducks, so we rushed him into Stratford as soon as we could persuade him out of pyjamas and into clothes. In an ideal world he wouldn't have fallen asleep just as we were arriving, and woken up half an hour later in a stuffy car in a seething temper, but it was what it was.

R offered to go and fetch some ice cream (quitter), and while he was gone B and I sat on a bench and watched the activity on the river, which restored the Boy's good humour. Because the forecast proved to be almost entirely wrong, we were all somewhat overdressed for the brilliant sunshine, and the ice cream arrived back over the river half melted, but B enjoyed it anyway. I spooned it into him with the supplied plastic shovel, and firmly ignored his complaints that he needed to do this himself, because we were clearly in a race against the clock. Even with my assistance the two of us became steadily more covered in chocolate drips, and in the end we looked as though we'd been too close spectators at a mud wrestling contest.

I was dividing the last actual lump of ice cream with the shovel, when B said, "No!", and when I asked if he'd had enough, he said, "No - I jus' want the juice now." "Are you sure?" I checked. "You're quite sure you don't want any more solids?" "No," was the response. "Jus' the juice, an' I want to do it Myself." "OK then - can Granddad and I have the last two solid bits?" "Yes," he said. So R and I had a pea-sized bit of chocolate ice cream each, and then I handed over the tub and the shovel, and B spooned and scraped and licked until the tub was surprisingly clean. Certainly a good deal cleaner than our hands and trousers, B's t-shirt, and my good walking boots.

When it got to be duck feeding time, the Boy insisted on doing it at the nearest point where there were waterfowl, and refused to be talked round even when we pointed out that these were geese and swans rather than ducks. We indicated the mallards over by the far river bank, and R offered to carry him round to them, but he was adamant. However, having met geese before, he was also very clear that R needed to hold him up at a safe height, so there was no danger of him being pecked. Feeding complete - with some of the bread spread across the grass "for the birdies" (J: "The birds won't have a chance, Darling - all these dogs will eat it." B: "I want the doggies to eat it. Here you go, doggies - here's your bread!") - we managed to persuade him back into the car, and whizzed off home for lunch.

The afternoon was unsettled and slightly stormy, but we still managed to spend most of it outside. Yesterday, for reasons I can't now remember, I taught B to cross his fingers, and today when R said that we'd just have to hope we were lucky, and the storm didn't come over our garden, he said to me, "I'm crossin' my fingers Grandma. I think we're going to be lucky!" Thunderstorms and being lucky then became the hot topics of the afternoon - though there was one other recurring theme. "What happened to my solids??" he said at intervals. "Where did they go?" And, in a distinctly accusatory tone, "Did you an' Granddad eat my solids?"

And - breathe....