Summer Dreams

Well thank god that is over. The school holidays have drawn to a close. And while we did have a lovely sojourn around the North of England as well as a spiffing time in Dorset, Nancy was perilously close to transmogrifying into a full blown teenager after being rather over indulged, in a most wonderful way by various parts of her family. 

Highlights included her feeding "gwinny" pigs, riding horses, going on a frankly sensational narrow gauge railway, seeing birds of prey, having a fry up at least every other day and eating her own body weight in croissants. It was a relentless cavalcade of fun culminating in her learning to play silly horse (what you and I know as shithead) and becoming rather good at it - helped by the motivational possibility of becoming chief unicorn if you lost all your cards first. Nancy was also introduced to the game twenty questions which it transpires is a fantastic tool if you want her to walk anywhere over pretty much any distance. After running out of Roald Dahl characters, friends and family on the course of our holiday, by the time she unleashed her full twenty question ability on Grandpa Westhay, it was only going to end one way.

Picture the scene, Nancy, Esther, Grandpa Westhay and I were 'twist Basher and East Ferne Santcuary for 1970s Invisible Animals and Caged Felines without a map and in the middle of a game of twenty questions. Esther was mid jihad. We'd reached 18 questions without making any inroads into Nancy's person. We knew he was real, but not where he lived, how old we was, where he came from and that he wasn't in our family. Nancy was exuding a smugness that was part sweet part devlish. Grandpa Westhay thought based on this information, there could be only answer. She was God, 

"Nancy, are you God?" 

Nancy replies, without breaking her figurative stride, "Don't be silly Grandpa; God's not real!" And with that she collapsed into laughter.Nancy 1 Grandpa 0. And irreligious, atheist parents 5000 - perils of organised religion 0. Never has my heart soared so high before. Naturally the answer was Father Christmas (which in a moment of I win, I immediately guessed!). Now that the whole threat of faith has been eviscerated, we can move on to highlighting the horrors of capitalism, Conservatism and the RSPCA to her. 

Phew.

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Sloane Ranger

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