Trains
Quainton houses the Bucks Railway Society's gaff, and yesterday we gave into Child's importuning - felicitously, as it happens, because it was not only a Steam Day but a Thomas Day with a Santa. So after a morning where DF ran Child (and herself) ragged, bouncing on the blow-up mattress, being teased mercilessly about mucus and not saying 'please' and 'thank you' (DF grew up in the same kind of household I did, where Mom had a look that would freeze you at 40 paces) and laughing every minute, we had lunch and set off, 'II having taken time off from his incessant work for a few hours.
[Digression: in an effort to slide more omega oils into Child's diet I have perfected the art of making eggyolk-based cream sauces which don't curdle, thus shewing that practice can sometimes make perfect, even in the impatient-handed such as I.]
[Further digression: on Friday, 'II worked for 11 hours, went to a rehearsal, and went back to work for another five hours. On Saturday he started work at half-seven, rehearsed, went back to work, came to pick up his DJ and a packed dinner, did the concert, and went back to work until 1 a.m.; and on Sunday, he went to work for four hours at half-eight, and managed to keep the phone calls to down to a total of ten whilst we were actually at the railway centre. Tonight he's working late again. Poor 'II... he may have to be renamed 'IATO.]
There was a magician there: practically Victorian in appearance, a lovely man, who kept Child enthralled. There was a roundabout. There was indeed a Thomas, and a number of other characters. There was a SPLENDID, perfect, Fat Director complete with the yellow waistcoat. There was a short miniature railway ride. There were secondhand BOOKS: I restricted myself to an ex-library copy of The Last Battle complete with DJ and a New Naturalist Series on Pestcides and Toxins, also with DJ, to be e-Bayed or somesuch at some future date. For a quid.
{Sigh} Child, this morning: "I'm not going to tell anyone at nursery about Quainton because it was special, and just for Us and [DF]. They can't know about it, and I am not going to tell them about the Santa present either because we just got it and it's new."
[Digression: in an effort to slide more omega oils into Child's diet I have perfected the art of making eggyolk-based cream sauces which don't curdle, thus shewing that practice can sometimes make perfect, even in the impatient-handed such as I.]
[Further digression: on Friday, 'II worked for 11 hours, went to a rehearsal, and went back to work for another five hours. On Saturday he started work at half-seven, rehearsed, went back to work, came to pick up his DJ and a packed dinner, did the concert, and went back to work until 1 a.m.; and on Sunday, he went to work for four hours at half-eight, and managed to keep the phone calls to down to a total of ten whilst we were actually at the railway centre. Tonight he's working late again. Poor 'II... he may have to be renamed 'IATO.]
There was a magician there: practically Victorian in appearance, a lovely man, who kept Child enthralled. There was a roundabout. There was indeed a Thomas, and a number of other characters. There was a SPLENDID, perfect, Fat Director complete with the yellow waistcoat. There was a short miniature railway ride. There were secondhand BOOKS: I restricted myself to an ex-library copy of The Last Battle complete with DJ and a New Naturalist Series on Pestcides and Toxins, also with DJ, to be e-Bayed or somesuch at some future date. For a quid.
{Sigh} Child, this morning: "I'm not going to tell anyone at nursery about Quainton because it was special, and just for Us and [DF]. They can't know about it, and I am not going to tell them about the Santa present either because we just got it and it's new."