Our anti-jubilee celebrations began well with the boys stealing union jack flags from the library. Ok, so it was me who inadvertently stole the flags (assuming they were free), but it was the boys who blatantly waved them under the staffs noses as we left the building! It was only when we got home that I noticed the price tag and barcode attached. I’m not sure how good a defence this is, but I do feel I had kind of paid for them as we’d recently taken some books out for the boys on Janet’s library card by mistake, and their typically late return had incurred a fine that was far bigger than the price of the flags. What I’ve not admitted to is that the fine is as yet unpaid but clearly it will be, just as soon as Janet tries to borrow a book and realises it’ll cost her £4 to do so.
The celebrations continued with a non-jubilee garden party for the birthdays of the boys granny and Auntie Fee. I succumbed to the request that we all wear red, white, and blue, and turned a blind eye to the union Jack bunting, however that’s not to say I didn’t have my suspicions that while my back was turned there was a toast raised to her majesty!?
We then continued the garden party theme with a visit to the Fete at the Trafford Centre. With the boys winning sweets on the ‘Hook a Duck’ and ‘Hoopla’ stalls the morning would have been an unequivocal success had it not been for Sonny repeatedly shouting “That’s fat Betty!” as we walked across the bridge.
His remarks were aimed at the posters hanging from the ceiling every 50 yards but I couldn’t help feel ashamed as every group of people we passed appeared to include at least one obese woman who took offence at his comments (however surely they can’t all have been called Betty?)
Finally, there was an unexpected twist in the soap opera that is the talking pigeons. Both Sonny and Luca took exception to a large streak of bird poo on the living room window, demanding to know who was responsible. I thought nothing more about it until a group of pigeons crossed our path in a busy Urmston town centre.
“You poo’d on our window!” Sonny shouted at the top of his voice.
“POOOOO!” yelled Luca, pointing at the confused birds.
I tried explaining it was perhaps a different pigeon who was guilty but to no avail.
“Stop pooing on our window Mr Pigeon!”
All the photos are courtesy of my big sister. There’s more photos and other lovely stuff on her own blog …