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Saturday 15th June 2019

6037/18966

We nearly pulled off the great sunflower heist, but 30 mins before we set off, Phoebe went into the garden to play and stopped still, looking at the border where her plant had once stood. “My sunflower has gone,” she told me.
“No, there it is,” I corrected, “look it’s bloomed.” (Though to be fair it was already looking pretty ropey.
“But I didn’t plant it there,” she pointed out. Of course, she had remembered the exact spot where it had been and I had only estimated. It can’t have been more than a foot away as the flower bed is tiny, but that kind of detail can sink the most well-planned con.
“Oh, we had to move it,” I lied, “because of the men working in the garden. But look, it’s bloomed. Isn’t it amazing?”
Phoebe was non-commital, like she wasn’t sure about something. She certainly wasn’t impressed by the flower. Not exactly disappointed either. Just like something didn’t add up and she was being bull-shitted. But she didn’t cry, like she would have done if we’d told her that her plant had been crushed by a builder. And she seemed to forget about it more or less straight away.
So I am taking that as a win.
Then I had to spend the best part to a day in a car with a 4 year old and a 20 month old. It took us about seven hours to get to Devon and given that fact we had a pretty good trip. There were one or two meltdowns from the boy and he only slept for 20 minutes, but the girl was very patient and excited about going on holiday. We sang “We’re all going on a summer holiday” like I am sure I did with my family as a child. There was a Hellish lunchtime stop at an overcrowded service station which made me see the positive side of genocide (sure, feel free to take that out of context). But eventually we arrived at our apartment and all the other members of our families had arrived. We were at the same place, but in different rooms to last time and it didn’t feel right that someone else was in our room. But we managed to get everything out of the car (and when I say we, I mean me) and then I took the kids to play in the freezing pool with a nasty evening breeze coming off the sea. My son sensibly refused to go in, but my daughter didn’t care and had the time of her life. I was brave and jumped in the deeper end. But I may have screamed like a terrified child as I made the plunge.
Then we all had fish and chips in our apartment, with Ernie asleep, but Phoebe trying to stay up as late as she could to see what adults get up to when kids are asleep. As disappointing as the truth is, she made a good stab at it. And I remembered sitting on the stairs in Loughborough as my parents had some kind of evening soiree, trying to see what they were up to and running upstairs to bed when I thought I was in danger of being discovered. I was 28 years old, obviously.
I haven't eaten anything like fish and chips for a while and for the second time in two days I felt a bit like I had taken drugs. But drugs that make you feel sluggish and bloated. Is that something that people want? :Like you're full to the brim with heroins.
The rolling down a grass bank was much more fun. Grass is as hard a drug as I need. Deep fried fish and tubers are a step too far.
Great to be on holiday, Will I have a drink? Will I put on all the weight I have lost? Does anyone care apart from me?


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