Cul de sac

This morning I willingly drove down a cul de sac.
Knowing full well that I would have to backtrack.

Don't get me wrong. I am usually all in favour of the straight line being the quickest way between two points.

But my five year old would beg to differ.

Whenever we drive back home after dropping Lady D.I., Luca and Mimi at the Dart station, he asks me to take the short cut back home.
And he always points to the same dead-end street.
And I always tell him that it is not a short cut, that it is a dead-end street (I never say Cul de Sac, no way am I going to use a term named after an arse).

Today, I just drove down the dead-end street.
Sometimes, telling a kid that a cul de sac is cul de sac is not enough. They have to see it for themselves.

I too was sort of curious to find out what was at the arse end of the cul de sac.

Now I know: a rotting Audi S8. And a woman who becomes very suspecting when strangers-with-no-business-here come to the end of the dead-end street to make a 3 point turn (I am quite sure that she took down my reg).

Finnzy-Bob was delighted.

I've got a feeling that somehow next Tuesday I will feel a tinge of disappointment when he does not ask me to take the short cut.

But then again, nothing tells me that he won't.

I am not sure if the demonstration was convincing enough...