Anyway, granny had bought the boys a dinosaur egg as part of their Easter present and the boys have loved the whole process of watching it hatch and grow.
The instructions suggested it would hatch after 24-48 hours although I was a little worried that having been dropped by granny on her way round I may have some awkward questions to answer should the birth not go to plan. As it happened the awkward questions were even more leftfield than expected.
Three days in and with Sonny’s mind working overtime the questions began…
“Will the dinosaur be my pet?”
“Will it talk to me?”
“If Im nice it wont run away will it?”
“If it grows bigger than me it wont eat me will it?”
With his concerns beginning to outweigh his excitement, and with the protracted hatching showing no signs of completion (despite regular nudging by my elbow) I took the decision to perform a c-section whilst the boys slept.
There followed days of Mavis(?) being shown around the house, and being introduced to every toy each morning as if its difficult birth had resulted in amnesia. It continued to grow in water, however after days of me being chastised for not whispering in its presence (supposedly it slept a LOT) I have to admit it outgrew its surroundings and was released into the wilds of the garden.
As part of our continuing quest for cheap adventures we’ve also had a trip to Pets at Home, or as Sonny excitedly announced repeatedly as we walked through the doors,
“Look Luca, it’s the gypsy zoo!”
I’ve no idea where that came from; OK so it had obviously come from me although I swear I only said this once and it was on the phone and never intended for their ears. Anyway, we ignored the stares of varying disdain from the shop staff and spent over an hour looking at the rabbits, fish, and reptiles. We could have stayed longer but for the store manager apparently being unimpressed with Lucas attempts at opening a box of live locusts, which to be fair I had noticed myself and was intending to deal with just as soon as I’d stopped Sonny playing skittles with some dog biscuits and a tennis ball.
On the subject of animals, on the way home from a fabulous morning at Experitots where we’d met up with Janet we found ourselves at Deansgate station having just missed our train and with Sonny and Luca way beyond being tired. In an ill-thoughout attempt at keeping them occupied I drew their attention to a pigeon ambling by. Now an increasingly annoying game we’ve begun to play is where Sonny talks to anything that catches his eye and I have to play the part of whatever has taken his attention, whether that be a cat, a tree or a cloud? Its just about bearable in the car, however when its on a station platform during rush hour it becomes excrutiatingly embarrassing.
“Hello Mr Pigeon!”
“Hello Sonny” I whispered.
“I can’t hear you Mr Pigeon”
“Hello” I muttered as loudly as I felt appropriate.
“Mr Pigeon? Where have you been today?” Sonny now shouted, trying to lure a louder reply.
At this point I tried suggesting that pigeons didn’t speak English, much to the amusement of the ladies sharing our bench.
“Mr Pigeon? Coo coo coo? can you talk to me?”
Luca realised that coo’ing was a language that he could also speak and decided to join the conversation, only he’d also decided that the pigeons rudeness deserved increasingly loud growls and screams of frustration until he received a reply he felt worthy of his questioning. What then followed was twenty minutes of a three-way conversation that consisted of interrogation from the boys and a series of replies in literally pigeon-english, the whole time under the watchful eyes of an increasingly large and hushed audience of commuters!
Now I’m not suggesting my performance was one of my best, but it did make me think; its a fine line between a free performance and busking. If I’d casually placed a cap with some spare change in front of the buggy would I be infringing on child labour laws? Obviously I’d share the profits with them, albeit after deducting my management fees of course!