Nefyn, United Kingdom
By now, I’ve slipped with happiness into the life of the house. At least, in such a way that doesn’t involve actually getting up to join in first thing. But I hear the girls moving around and chattering and hear some of the content later-Rocky wandering in to Ali’s with the iPad, for instance, “is this a good idea?” I can picture the accompanying smile vividly. Always a privilege to be able to hang around with other people in their daily life, and we’ve been to the beach, I’ve run along the cliff top, cycled to Aberdaron and lounged.
I have been around to play with the little ones, enough that I hope I haven’t been the victim, as some young playmates were, of a sotto voce Rocky “I don’t like…” I am proudest of giving Libby her head, as she had “great idea” after idea, trying to tie the skipping rope to the tree so she could stand on it. It didn’t work, but at least we tried and failed rather than me pulling the boring grown up “I don’t think so”.
Ali emerges from a swim.
I also hit school sports day. The school is fairly small, and all were arranged the other side of the grass running strip while onlookers were the other side with strict instruction not to sit with their kids. Organisation was slick, if incomprehensible-this being North Wales, welsh announcements were mandatory. Each year group ran over to the start line, were organised into heats if there were enough, and ran for their houses. Four colours, whites generally in plain shirts, blue in a nice mish mash of shirts from different events, red generally in football shirts-Rooney was popular-and green, well you felt for the parents trying to find green shirts. Fun in the sun, with the kids chanting the names of whoever ran for them in each race. For the grown ups the mum and dads’ races were highlights, with only two mums getting up and the larger one-large and larger-powering through, Bolt style. For the men, first there was one, then three, four, and finally, having checked the competition, the winner joined in. There wasn’t much space at the end-kids who won clearly veered straight across to the sweet table-and I’m pretty sure he not only won but hurdled the high fence at the end. Pretty sure because I didn’t see it. The original contender wasn’t the lightest either, and had the misfortune of a central lane. He sprinted off, stumbled and bounced from lane 3 to 4, caught himself, stumbled again and bounced into lane 2 before gravity finally won out. On closer inspection those middle lanes were not so flat-a gentleman would never blame it on the mums’ race-and his fall was really not his fault.
It might have been a little amusing, though.
Ali arranged a babysitter and we headed for the pub on tuesday evening. The Ty Coch is in the next bay over, a short putt putt in the boat or walk around the cliff path, and we opted for the latter. Right on the beach, it’s idyllically located, and there’s a lifeboat to peer at which always pleases me. After a few, Ali even managed to bite back any ‘told you so’ as my shirted self had to go indoors for warmth, but we wandered up to the golf club for our cab. We were early, enough to start wondering if we might call, but he was bang on time.
Run, cycle, eat, pub, sun. Other bliss may differ, but that will do me.