Bum time

Sticking with an anecdotal approach to this blog, which has refreshed a flagging genre, the incident about to unfold brought me a very large dollop of happiness.

For a while, Nancy, for one day a week, resided in the woods, but as gender stereotypes took hold it became more about running around and less about crafting something from the primordial surroundings,  Nancy's interest waned. It was a sad day for us all, as the woods were an oasis of difference in the grim, but homely, sprawl of North London.

That said, last weekend we returned for a morning session to reconnect with the natural world. Along with Tarquin, Barry, Chai Latte, Zarathustra and other improbably named children we ventured into the untamed wilds of Highgate woods. So far so serious. Some earnest activity ensues, before Nancy and her friend climb a small hill overlooking the sight of middle class nirvana. Tarquin is relaxing with a soy milk babycino. All is the peaceful and civilisation rules.

And then they it happens. The unmistakable cry of 'BUM TIME'. I look to the top of the hill to see Nancy sliding on her bum down the slope with Germanic glee. I wept tears of joy. Tarquin just wept. Nancy wins. Again.

Best Hat

Tree Hugger

Giacometti-esque. 

Word

 

Champagne Supernova

Is that giraffe to scale? Looks a bit dodgy to me.