I’m going big game hunting later today. It’s early and the sprouts are still asleep, but the day looks promising and so I’ve packed sandwiches. Too long have the girls been allowed to play with dollies and whilst they produce a fair pencil, pen or crayon then with my best-beloved Q already off to work then today is a day for toughening up!
Not often enough for them the tumble-down bank or the thrilling adventure. I hasten to add that unlike the trembling and fearful I’ve read the notices of recently in cities my girls climb trees, ride bikes, and play in the street. But still they’ve had it easy. And here in Tolly Maw I discovered only last night that it’s open season on dinosaurs, and so today we shall hunt ourselves dinner. Probably cooked in the form of nuggets (because explorer-hunters work up a treat) we shall roam and we shall camp, albeit the latter in my Dad’s old, thin tent. My youngest (Bosswell) is brave-and-bold (though only four she never allows a tear or more than a trembling lip for any amount of cuts, scrapes and bloody knees) and so she shall have the pith helmet. My eldest (Catnip) whilst girlier than a fluffy pink shoe is also a climber of unparalleled skill and so she shall have the flying helmet. Equipped with cutlasses, telescopes and pistols the like of which their mother would not approve I shall lead them into the lost valley and there they shall stalk and where if we encounter others then this being the north they shall only nod, pass a word to pass the day but otherwise not comment on smoking revolvers and the head of a Nastysaurus.
We shall eat in the wilds at the source of the Ever Winding River. We shall return tired, dirty but triumphant at just-gone-lunch.
Whereon Q returned from a hard day I shall go about my own, tappity-tap.
That little bit braver, that little more bold.