Ah, English Summer Fetes. What a beautifully eclectic variety of weekend entertainment. From the gently frustrating Hook-a-Duck, the aggression venting Splat-the-Rat, the pocket fleecing raffle (none of the prizes you actually want to win but you still buy a mass of tickets anyway) and the Teddy Bear Rocket Launcher. All the old favourites. But, wait, what was that? Teddy Bear Rocket launcher??? Yes. Yes, my friends, you read that correctly. There is a new stall in the village (well the neighbouring one to be precise) where your child’s teddy gets the opportunity of a lifetime – to become an astronaut. Yes. I know. Continue reading “Little Bear’s Space Adventures”
Have you ever wondered what happened to the five little ducks who went swimming one day, over the hill and far away? Or even how that Mummy duck felt when finally only one little duck came back? No. I haven’t either. Until now that is. I now know that two of those goddamn little ducks ended up in our garage.
The following post is a guest post by J, he is 7 and he is my son. Enjoy…
Ladybird Ladybird fly away home,
Your house is on fire and your children all gone,
All except one and that’s little Ann,
And she’s crept under the warming pan.
The night was cold and frosty,
There’s no more to tell.
(A Frosty Night by Robert Graves)
Last week featured Apple Day, a celebration of all things apple (just to clarify we are talking about the crunchy variety not the tech giant), so yesterday we decided to venture to Glastonbury and participate in the National Trust’s Apple Picking Event at the foot of Glastonbury Tor. It appears though that we were a little late for it as by the time we arrived the promised apple activities (apple pressing, apple art etc) were nowhere to be seen.
J played football with Ronaldo and Messi last week. I know, quite amazing that two of the best footballers in the world were training, together, in deepest Somerset just before the start of the new season. What’s that? You don’t believe me? Oh. OK. I admit it, maybe the footballing legends weren’t actually there in person. Yes, alright, it was just a couple of kids (half the group) wearing replica shirts, but it did amuse me. It also got me thinking.
Thwack.
Knock. knock… knock.
The sound of a leather ball hitting the middle of a willow bat is, for me, the auditory equivalent of the smell of a bare hospital corridor carrying the aroma of antiseptic. Both have the power to take me back in time, though to very different episodes in the Life of Ryrie. Cricket, and hospital corridors, was as much part of my childhood summers as the paddling pool and my birthday were.
We are feeling particularly Christmassy this weekend after kick starting the Festive Season by bearing witness to the big Turn On in Frome. Standing in the cold, wet and windy market square in Frome Town has become as much a tradition as putting up the Christmas tree, or eating turkey. This year was particularly impressive as building projections played a part of the seasonal illumination.
Life of Ryrie 