When I first met Janet I claimed I lived in Sale Barns and referred to Urmston as Outer Partington. In a similar vain I used to joke that I wouldn’t use buses until they had a specified 1st-class section, in fact the whole problem with public transport was the public element. How times have changed; now we see the tram as a special treat if it’s for anything less than three stops.
Apparently though this snobbery is hereditary, as exemplified by Sonny on Monday. I’d asked a waitress which fresh juices they had, and when she offered him the choice of orange or apple he replied,
“Is it proper posh apple juice?”
Later in the day when we were building a den in the front room he suddenly proclaimed
“I don’t want a den daddy, can I have a gazebo please?”
Short of somewhere free to go, and having recently used Toys R Us as a playgroup once too often, we decided on a trip to the Willowpool Garden Centre in Knutsford.
From the moment we walked through the large lion statues at the entrance the boys were enchanted by the whole place. I’m not sure the staff shared my confidence in setting them free from the buggy but off they ran, Sonny taking the lead and Luca a few stumbling steps behind. It’s less a garden centre and more a wonderland of oddities and treasures, and at every corner the boys would disappear before poking their heads back round to tell me what they’d found. Fountains, statues, a lake (well, a pond but who was I to argue? Saying that, after I’d pointed to a statue and Sonny had mockingly suggested it was actually a busk, I probably should have corrected his lake/pond confusion; but then again I have to keep reminding myself there’s no real satisfaction getting one over a two year old … well maybe a little?!?)
As per normal we’d planned to arrive by mid-morning which transpired to be lunchtime, so tucked away in the far corner was a small tearoom where we decided we’d stop for something to eat, much to the annoyance of the ‘Lymm ladies that lunch’, who despite the room being very full kept a table wide buffer zone around our corner.
The food was fantastic and well recommended, Sonny and Luca sharing (yes sharing) a ham and cheese toastie, before Sonny polished off my sausage bap whilst Luca ate at least two of the sugar cubes before I realised why he kept throwing lettuce onto the floor for me to pick up.
The garden centre had sent Sonny’s imagination running wild, and when we got home we spend the rest of the afternoon on an adventure in the front room. The sofa being ‘The Kingdom of Cushions’, the teddies each being their own statue, and Luca, against his will, being a fire-breathing dragon. Maybe that was why Luca wasn’t allowed in Sonny’s gazebo, but was allowed a cave/den of his own next door.
One downside of Sonny’s constant role-playing is that apparently I have to be either Justin or Robert (both from Justins House on Cbeebies). It’s all well and good at home, but every time we’re out and about he now refers to me as Robert, with anyone passing by assuming I’m either their uncle, or worse still a part-time dad with irregular visiting rights?!?