The one where Sunday ran me over. Twice.
Sunday could have turned out very differently. While my other half went out for the morning with our youngest, I tidied up, washed up, and made lunches for a picnic that had been mentioned earlier in the weekall in the hopes of getting a chance to sit and watch the Grand Prix from Germany. I don't really watch much television, so thisone thing that I do tend to watch becomes amplified.
After racing around all morning I finally sat down, the lights went green, and I think I saw about as far as the third lap of the race before our youngest arrived in the room.“Mum is in the park with everybody else for the picnicshe says you have to make it”I could have exploded in swearing, but I did not. I didn't see the Grand Prix, and I didn't see the highlights of it later in the evening either. I did see ten minutes of the end of the Wimbledon Final later in the evening, but even then I was being frowned at while doing so, because I was supposed to be going to the corner shop to buy tinfoilMy life could be a comedy, starring Tony Hancock.
Anyway. In the middle of the crazy, all of the kids ended up in our back garden in the paddling pool. I left the assembled grown-ups who were having a picnic on the green, and wandered back to our house to check on the children and didn't return.
An hour later, they all arrived in our garden to discover me stood in a hail of water from all the children, soaked to the skin in my clothes, with all of them screaming hilariously like lunatics.I expect various photos like the one above will appear on the social networks over the coming days.
For those few minutes in the garden with the children, I forgot about the frustrations of the day. I was seven years old again, and life was good.