Park Life

Having spent most of my late teens and twenties in love with cars but without the means to buy one that didn't want to kill me, I also spent a lot of that time lying under cars. Not to say that I'm a skilled mechanic. Far from it. I once jacked a two and a half tonne van up on a scissor jack and, against no odds, it fell on my head once I climbed under it. I've electrocuted myself, driven screws through my hand, rounded every nut I've touched and accidentally drank engine oil (I was not well.) On one distressingly memorable occasion I sat in a puddle of battery acid I hadn't realised I'd spilt. At the risk of being indelicate, sulphuric acid and bum holes should never cross paths. Also, the arse fell out of my jeans which - as far as my Dad was concerned -  was the funniest occurrence in history.

So I didn't hold out much hope this afternoon when I started removing the front wing of my car. I won't bore you with why I had to do this, but assume it was both necessary and unwise and naturally it wasn't long before I was lying under the car try to swear it into working. This sort of thing draws my Kids to me like moths to a flame.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm failing to undo this nut."

"Why are you failing?"

"Because it's cleverer than me."

"Why is it-?"

"Boy, will you just fu-" (Deep breath) "Er... Pass me the spanner next to your foot?"

"What's a spanner?"

"It's the shiny silver thing with a circle at each end."

"Ok."

"...Boy?"

"Yes?"

"Why have you given me a dandelion?"

But he'd gone. Presumably to talk someone into jumping off a ledge. He came back later to annoy me, and when I finally lost my temper he patted me on the head and went away. However, despite my the angry vein on my temple ballooning to unprecedented size,  I somehow won this battle with the car. So I went back inside to crow about it to the Wife.

"Aha! Me big man! Me fix car!"

"You've got a flower behind your ear."

"What?"

"That was me."

the Boy said, without looking up from his book.

To celebrate this success we took the Kids and their scooters for a walk in the park. This seemed to confuse the Girl no end.

"Where's the park?"

"We're in the park."

"Where are the swings?"

"Its not that kind of park.Its a park with a lot of grass, and little gardens."

"Oh." (Pause) "Are we going to the park?"

"We're IN the park, Girl."

"Oh." (Pause) "Where are the swings?"

"Lets go and get ice cream!"

So we went to get ice cream - something I assume only the British do when its ten degrees Celsius and pissing with rain. Whilst the Wife stood in the queue, I showed the Kids around the outside of a stately home, some stables and then, having run out of ideas, the toilet block.

"Why are dogs allowed in the toilets?"

"Well, I guess because a lot of people walk dogs in the park and they can't leave them outside. And some people might have guide dogs."

"What's a guide dog?"

"Well, Girl - it's a dog that helps blind people walk about without bumping into things."

Now there are many replies to this. The one I hadn't expected was

"Boris is a guide cat."

"No he isn't."

"HE IS!"

"Girl, Boris keeps walking into the patio doors. I really hope he isn't a guide cat."

"HE IS!"

Fortunately the Boy saved me with the words

"Ooh! I need a poo!"

And so the three of us found ourselves in the worst public toilets that have ever assaulted the senses of mankind. They were the kind of toilets where you try to get in and out without touching any surface in the place, including the floor. The Boy, for once aware of his surroundings, did his business quickly and we bailed out into the sweet air outside where the Wife was waiting for us. Seeing my expression she said

"You alright?"

"Those were, without doubt, the worst toilets I've ever been in."

The Boy nodded and, jerking a thumb over his shoulder, said

"Yeah, they let girls in there!"