"NO, it's my turn to hold his hand …" When our son is older the sound of seven females arguing over him will doubtless be music to his ears. But at the moment, as the only boy to start at our village school, he's finding their attentions somewhat irritating.
There's been a lot on for the younger generation of our family, what with the new academic year, a birthday party and the village fete.
We were able to use The Shed for the party. Regular readers will know this particular building has earned its c
apital letter status by being such a long-running project.
It's now concreted out, with sheeting over the majority of the roof. There's still guttering and so-on to sort. Then we'll have to get walls built, wooden boarding up the sides, partitions, stable doors…
Anyway, the invited guests didn't seem to notice all that it was lacking. They loved (after playing on a begged and borrowed bouncy castle) sitting on its straw bales for their party lunch. The only stressful moment came when the candles wouldn't light on the birthday cake and we had to come right into the bales to stop the flame from being blown out by the wind. It was the best party we've ever had with regard to tidying up. No mess in the kitchen; just taking the Lurcher up to the shed to clear up all the dropped sandwiches and sausages.
Talking of sausages, a visit to the barbecue at the village fete resulted in a spell behind the grill. People really seemed to appreciate that the burgers and bangers were made of good-quality meat. So often you go to these events and, after one bite, wish you hadn't been tempted by the cooking smells.
The bale tossing had to be cancelled because the straw was too heavy from the rain. Welly-wanging did go ahead though, with The Husband's sneaky introduction of a steel toe-capped boot failing to stop last year's record being broken: 100ft 7in is now the distance to beat.
The fancy dress parade never fails to be one of those moments that make the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. There's something so old-fashioned about all the children walking down from the church to the showfield. It was good to see the vicar in attendance. There's a saying about the ideal place to live having all the Ps. Can't remember exactly how it goes – sure somebody will be able to advise – but we had the priest and the pub which was a most excellent start.
For the first time this year there was a women's tug-of-war. It was the most marvellous fun, made all the more enjoyable by being on the winning side. A victory which was, we were told, down to adopting the right technique. Something the son will have to learn for dealing with all those girls.
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