This week it was Isabel’s turn. She’s 18 months old and we’d been to the park and decided to feed the ducks. It’s a nice safe area fenced off from the road and the pond itself has a railing round.
She’s a bit of a Dangerous Brian, climbing on things and generally turning the last dozen brown hairs on my head to grey. But at the pond she just tripped and fell hitting her forehead on the hard paving.
Poor little mite. She had a huge lump on her head and a bruise and grazes.
Meanwhile Imogen had coaxed a duck out of the pond and it came right over to the girls. Poor tatty old thing it was, but as it ate the bread and twittered softly at them, Isabel’s tears dried up and she forgot all about her hurt noggin.
There was nothing I could have done to stop her falling and as they say, you can’t wrap them in cotton wool. But I still feel guilty.
When my kids were little it seemed I was always rushing round to casualty with one or other of them. So this week’s mishap brought plenty of memories of other injuries flooding back.
And it’s not just kids. I’ve got a poor track record when it comes to looking after pets too.
I remember once Oakley leaping over a barbed wire fence and slashing his willy and the amount of blood he lost was frightening (the vet was very sympathetic) . . . then there was the time he ran through a rape field and came out with cuts under both eyes so it looked as if his eyes were bleeding.
Would you trust me with your children or your pets? I wouldn’t. I can’t remember my mum ever returning any of mine to me broken or damaged in any way – although there was the time one of my sons knelt on a needle and it went right into his knee and we did once have to dig one of my cats out from under her bedroom carpet.
Here is a picture of said cat – Huggy. He was an orphaned feral cat. We’d just lost one of our cats and our other cat Leo was pining and lonely.
Anyway, he arrived in our house lousy with fleas, riddled with worms and it has to be said, a tad smelly. Leo was mortified at first, but he came to love the little newcomer, cleaned him up and taught him how to be a cat.
He grew into a huge, beautiful cat, but he was never completely domesticated and always kept his wild streak. Once when my mum’s dog looked at him without warning him first, he did a wall of death circuit round the room inches from the ceiling. Impressive. He broke two wall lights.
Stocks funfair is on the green this week. Oh that brings back happy memories for me. My grandad moaning about the cost of the rides, my dad being asked to move along from the rifle range, toffee apples, candyfloss, the Skids and best of all the atmosphere.
We lived near the green so you’d hear the music as soon as it opened. I used to spend far too much time hanging round, making friends with the kids, watching them setting it all up and taking it apart again a few days later.
And that wonderful smell, a mixture of diesel, sweetness and frying onions – and the noise of the machinery grinding round when there was a pause in the music and of course the screaming and laughter of people enjoying themselves. Sigh.
Anyway enough of all that. Anyone know where I can buy an industrial sized roll of cotton wool?