Monday, 29 July 2013

Man Plans, God Laughs

So we went camping, and everything went brilliantly. For the first time in six years we went out into the wide world and no one lost an eye, I didn't explode into a vast and impotent rage and (due to the Girl's metaphorical toys remaining in her metaphorical pram) the High Street of Cromer didn't come to a standstill. It was a sterling success.

Almost.

We'd managed to go three days without mishap or mayhem. Three days of sunshine, beaches, ice cream and lashings and lashings of waiting-until-the-Kids-went to-bed-and-then-drinking-ourselves-unconscious. On the last day we found ourselves standing by our cars, neatly packed with our camping accouterments, the picture of parental smugness. We were just patting ourselves on the back for getting our tents back into their bags without a) swearing or b) splitting the bag and disgorging a pile of canvas and poles into the grass when our friend's youngest child casually strolled over and said;

"The Boy just did a poo in the secret toilet."
"Er... What?"
"Yeah. He did a poo in the secret toilet and then I covered it up and did a wee on it."

With look of anxious hope I turned to his dad and said;

"Heh. Fertile imagination your boy's got there."
"I don't think he's joking."

Bollocks.

I turned and marched over to the children's playground where the Boy was sitting on a swing looking like the cat that got the cream and then took a shit on a secret toilet. He beamed at me as I walked over.

"Boy. Did you do a poo?"

He nodded, grinning.

"WHERE did you do a poo?"

Still grinning, he pointed to his right at a hollowed out tree stump.

"You didn't."

Of course he did.

This prompted a slightly frantic conversation during which I extolled the virtues of getting in the cars, lighting up the tyres and making a run for the border. Based on this, the general consensus was that I had to go and clean it up.

So with a heavy heart and a Sainsbury's carrier bag, I walked back to the scene of the crime and... well it was a bit like this

Except that when I scooped I realised that either the Boy had eaten a cow, or he wasn't the first to use the secret toilet. So there you go; man plans, God laughs and your Boy takes a shit in a tree when you're not paying attention. It's a lesson for life, my friends.