Tag Archives: Racecourse

I am not an ice-cream thief

Bonnie checks for lick marks on her ice-cream

IT’S been lovely weather, and therefore the kids have been begging even more fervently than usual for ice cream.

At our old address, the dulcet tones of the Gallones’ van used to be a regular pain in the bum, as the van would draw up practically outside our house, just before tea, sending the boys into a frenzy of mostly unsuccessful begging.

You’d think you’d be safe from pester power while walking across the grassy Racecourse, but no.

During our latest efforts to coax our cycle-phobic seven-year-old around on his bike, Bonnie, aged three, suddenly took off, running in the direction of an ice-cream van which had emerged bumpily across the field.

All concentration on the cycling task was lost. Eldest son Jed begged some cash from his Dad and sprinted after his surprisingly fast sister.

Saintly old me, on an eternal (failing) diet, didn’t have one.

But when Bonnie has a 99, you’ve got to be quick to make sure it doesn’t all end up down her front.

Which means regular cone-policing.

Which may involve Mummy being forced to lick around the edges to stop it dripping.

Which of course, is just the moment when glaring strangers walk past, who assume, fatty, that you’ve stolen your whining toddler’s ice-cream. . .

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Letting the old bitch out for a daily walk

IT’S not really a New Year’s Resolution, more a necessity to stop my gammy fat knees becoming arthritic, but I’ve started a daily walking routine.

I know, I know, you’ve heard all this before. Last time it was the running in the summer, before that years and years of gym memberships.

Racecourse dragon

But the grinding of cartilage under my kneecap is serious. The walking routine has to be kept up, and means a change in the family dynamic. Mum must be given half an hour every day to go for a walk. However, sometimes lack of babysitters means I have to take a walking buddy. And we don’t have dog (despite constant nagging from the offspring).

Bonnie is really doesn’t like being confined to the buggy but I can bribe her around the Racecourse now with a promise that we’ll visit the dragon at the end. The councils get a lot of flack for their decisions but for once they deserve praise – for the dragon play area at the, ahem, less salubrious end of the park is really looking, well, like a dragon. And for those of us needing exercise, racing up and down the steep humps after a toddler is as tough as circuit training. . .

PS – This is my 100th post. Don’t say I never stick at anything.

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