Back in the Sun

At the risk of making people think all I do is go to the seaside, we went to the seaside again last week. The same seaside. And I wouldn't mind, but it's not even our local beach. Because we live thirty miles from the nearest beach. And it wasn't that one. We were only in the car for a couple of hours but I got the feeling that was the Boy's limit because when we got out at the beach the he made me tie a blue towel around his neck and ran off singing;

"Nunna nunna nunna nunna nunna nunna nunna nunna SAT NAV!"

That sat nav has become a bit of focus for the Kids. On a recent trip I took with the Girl she asked if she could look at it. She was absolutely fascinated and kept saying;

"It's talking to me! Hello Sat Nav. I love you!"

Sadly, by the time we got to our destination, it was speaking to her in turkish.

However, it had been a bit of a rough journey. On the way up to our camp site the day before the Wife and I had tried to entertain a grumpy and churlish Girl by singing to her. Turns out this doesn't work, and she screamed at us. A lot. We tried to calm her down but she was quite determined that we should NEVER SING AGAIN.

After a tense few miles in which the WIfe and I tried to act like we weren't giving in to her, whilst actually giving into her, her voice piped up;

"Boris you're a cat/Make a big noise/Playing in the street/Going to be a big cat on Sunday... Weeeeee wiiiill weeee wiiiilll rock Boris."

This annoyed the Boy.

"I want to sing Sex on Fire, Dad." *To the Girl in a condescending tone* "Do you know who sings Sex on Fire, Girl?"

"Boris."

This led to an argument that escalated until I had to tell the Boy off for being rude, at which point the Girl tried to assist me by saying;

"It's not on, Boy. IT'S NOT ON!"

Which seemed to be a bit incongruous from a four year old.

Anyway, back to the beach. We wandered down the pebble beach until we found a position equidistant between the chip shop and the cafe. Our friends had come with us, and together we stamped out our beach territory by the strategic placement of towels, bags, a beach tent and bristling every time someone came near. The Kids switched into their sun suits, the Boy insisted on paddling in a sea the colour of slate and the temperature of Pluto. The Wife went and got chips and whilst we waited for her, I fell asleep and the five kids filled my shorts with stones. There's a recommendation for you (and another reason that pebble beaches are better than sandy ones) - it's easier to deal with a metric tonne of pebbles in your shorts than entertain your kids for an hour. It kept them quiet for ages. Then they buried me (with gleeful assistance from one of the parents - honestly, it was like he was five again). Once again, much better to be interred than have to deal with your kids in any way. Admittedly it all went a bit south when one of our friends kids tried to fill my mouth with pebbles, and I discovered how difficult it is to fight off a determined three-year-old when you're weighed down under a pile of stones.

All in all we had another lovely short break, full of giggles and games and fun. It was so much fun we didn't try to hurry the kids off to be so we could all get drunk. I must be getting mellow in my old age...