(no subject)
James had a friend over for tea yesterday. A little while after we got back from school another boy from their class called for them and I let them out the front to play football. I keep the front door open and have become remarkably attuned to any changes in volume or tone!
So all is well for about ten minutes and then it goes quiet....
Our house is at the end of a cul-de-sac, the bottom of the T being bordered by a long, six-foot tall, brick wall behind which lies an overgrown orchard - one of those little parcels of neglected land that you so rarely find these days. So I walk out the front and find A (the boy who's visiting for tea) trying to climb the wall, G (the boy who called for A & James) sat on top of the wall and no James.
James, it transpires, is on the other side of the wall. The six-foot brick wall. Unable to get back over after retrieving his friend's football.
What to do?
Climb the wall myself, of course. Any excuse.
So ten minutes later when a police car makes it's usual evening round (keeping an eye on the drug dealers who live opposite me - yes, even in leafy Bucks, perhaps even more so...) that's what they find. Me on top of the wall with two eight year old boys, arms scratched to pieces from trying to haul James up, pointing out to him that he'd be much better off eating his fish fingers and chips in the house rather than me passing them over the wall.
Long story short (ish!) kind Mr Plod hoisted James back over the wall and all ended happily. Apart from the little jolt I received when, on taking the boys to Cubs a half hour later I found out that they were going to be fire lighting.... ;)
So all is well for about ten minutes and then it goes quiet....
Our house is at the end of a cul-de-sac, the bottom of the T being bordered by a long, six-foot tall, brick wall behind which lies an overgrown orchard - one of those little parcels of neglected land that you so rarely find these days. So I walk out the front and find A (the boy who's visiting for tea) trying to climb the wall, G (the boy who called for A & James) sat on top of the wall and no James.
James, it transpires, is on the other side of the wall. The six-foot brick wall. Unable to get back over after retrieving his friend's football.
What to do?
Climb the wall myself, of course. Any excuse.
So ten minutes later when a police car makes it's usual evening round (keeping an eye on the drug dealers who live opposite me - yes, even in leafy Bucks, perhaps even more so...) that's what they find. Me on top of the wall with two eight year old boys, arms scratched to pieces from trying to haul James up, pointing out to him that he'd be much better off eating his fish fingers and chips in the house rather than me passing them over the wall.
Long story short (ish!) kind Mr Plod hoisted James back over the wall and all ended happily. Apart from the little jolt I received when, on taking the boys to Cubs a half hour later I found out that they were going to be fire lighting.... ;)