The elephant on the porch
A rare golden ball of gas in the sky warmed us today. Blackbirds singing, Laughingboy on the front doorstep in his wheelchair gazing at multicoloured twirly windmills whizzing around in a cool spring breeze. I in the kitchen buttering bread for the baby, a sudden rush of chundering wheels interrupted my train of thought.
The kid in his go-cart skidded to a halt outside our house and looked up at Laughingboy, gazed for a few seconds in unashamed curiosity.
“Hiya” he said. Laughingboy said nothing, his head lolling to one side, his brain processing a multitude of all sorts of things, or nothing at all.
“Hiya” the kid said again. Again Laughingboy stayed mute.
I chose that moment to go outside to spark up a smoke and smiled at the kid who instantly jumped at my presence, as though caught in the act of doing something private. He smiled back. Or half-smiled. He wasn’t sure.
“You’re a clever young lad” I told him. “You know that most people who don’t say hello back, are ignorant. It’s different with my little boy, he can hear you but he can’t reply yet, he hasn’t learned how. Whereas most people give up on saying hello to him, you don’t, and that’s why you’re clever. It’s people like you who’ll teach him how to talk, so thanks… thanks a million.”
“K” said the kid, and go-carted away. Laughingboy giggled at the sound of churning wheels on tarmac and the birds went on singing, as they do.
Parkour Pops
You know that side-vault thing? That thing people do to scale walls or fences in one fluid jump? I’ve always been a fan of that. It’s quite sexy in its own way, that whole ‘I’m unstoppable’ kind of jesture, but I’ve never been able to do it. That is, I’ve never tried… which means I’ve always been to scared to try. I fear injuries involving face-plants and potentially knocked out teeth, see. I blame my dad for that, not that it’s much of an unjustifiable fear, but.
Paddy’s Day was bright and sunshiny this year, we stopped for icecream, Puppychild and Sir Fartsalot and I, and watched the parade move slowly by to the music of screams and vomits from the carnival nearby. We wandered up and down the sea-front and basked in the hysterics and paid carnival-folk for cheap thrills and people-watched until the sun began to set. This wandering lark was interrupted periodically though, by my need to rest. I’m not a big believer in buggies, mad as it seems, I much prefer to hold mah babies until they’re big enough to walk as it makes for an easier life (and bigger biceps) in the long run. I’m just not very fit.
It was during one such stop that it happened. Sir Fartsalot perching on a wall three feet high, Puppychild dancing an Irish jig on top of said wall, me flailing my arms in a ridiculous sort of pattern making noises of relief, a little girl watching us intently from the other side.
“C’mon Grandad!” she said.
An elderly gentleman suddenly appeared from nowhere, took a large stride, then vaulted cleanly over the wall to the little girl. I’d understand this sort of behaviour if… say… the child was on fire, or was in the path of some heavy object travelling very very fast, but she wasn’t. He was simply a very limber octogenarian, and I won’t deny a certain degree of arousal on my part.
Even Puppychild was impressed. “Super Grandad!” she exclaimed, and I agreed wholeheartedly, his freerunning abilities putting me to shame.
Grandads. They don’t make ‘em like they used to!
Car 54, where are you?
I went to play bingo last night. Well you might think it a sad pursuit to follow for a young woman with plenty of party in her yet, thank you very much, and you might be right, but I couldn’t not go.
Firstly, it was a game in aid of Cystic Fybrosis to build funds for a friend who’s legging it to Paris for the marathon pretty soon, so bums on seats had extra special importance that night.
Secondly, I’m weaning my baby of my booby and this is not going especially well at all. Being a Taurean, he is a very stubborn child and does not see why this plastic crap has suddenly invaded his life before bedtime, so he objects extremely loudly… a sound from which even Mary Poppins herself would need a break from now and then, even if it is only to go bingoing.
Thirdly, the waiters were all naked.
This is a very clever idea. As the caller is announcing his two little ducks see, Mr Naked Waiter is sashaying around the place and cleverly deflecting women’s attention from the balls (as it were) with his cleverly engineered back, sack and crack wax. All I could hear throughout the night were periodic requests from various crevices in the room to repeat the last few numbers, all of which were ignored by the caller, of course.
I, however, payed attention and won three prizes! Yep… having spent the day wiping two sets of cheeks four times each free of brown matter of varying consistency, I had had my fill of arse entirely for the day… even very well shaved and artificially tanned ones that reflected the very rays from heaven itself couldn’t tempt me away from my bingo cards.
What a great night out it turned out to be! So different, so cheap. And er… great crack. Heheh.
