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34 HUNGER STRIKE

29th APRIL 2017

 

 

2 YEAR OLD EWAN'S BLOG

 

HUNGER STRIKE

 

 

Hi Ewan here.

 

I may be young, fancy free and single but as Mum and Dad know when they come to change my nappy, I do not like change.

 

At nursery I had settled down to a nice routine. The staff know me and I know them. We work together. They look after me I cause them no trouble. Sound. Perfect understanding.

 

I am one of the oldest in our room (apart from the staff, of course) so the other kids respect me. They know if they step out of line there will be trouble. If they have a toy I want to play with they are quite happy for me to play with it. They understand me and the rules you see.

 

I was comfortable. I was happy to remain in that position until I retired. Ok, they keep putting up retirement age and at the moment that means another 68 years, until 2085, but that is my point I’d accepted it.

But some bright spark has come along and buggered that up. They have put me in the older toddler group at nursery and I detest it.

 

No one thought to ask me what I wanted. And yes thank you, I am now able to speak for myself even if my vocabulary is limited to 100 words, I’m quite capable of saying “* Off”, you know.

 

So what’s the problem? Everything.

 

The room is different. All the other kids are older than me and I’ve got to start getting an understanding going again. Not easy with older kids. All the toys are different too and more complex. And try as I might I don’t come across cool and in control impressing the older kids like the younger ones. They all see through me.

 

Some of the activities are OK, infact they are similar. I gave Grandad my Communication Diary which details all I’ve done. He’s listed some here, but although the titles are copied from my diary his interpretation leaves a lot to be desired, but I’ve left it in as I don’t want to knock his confidence:

 

ACTIVITY                                           GRANDAD’S RESPONSE

Sensory bottles                                     Exciting sounds or do I mean sounds exciting.

 

Looking at the books outside            Being an Ex-accountant I welcome the fact that my grandson is allowed to check out the financial standing of the nursery.

 

Driving cars outside                             You can’t start them too young, how to nick a car and drive it that’s what I say, I’m not sure how the children get to see over the dashboard (maybe have a cushion to sit on) or reach the accelerator/brake pedals but I guess it doesn’t matter as they will not be on the main roads

 

Building with Duplo                            Another excellent idea as the Nursery is bulging at it’s seams, use the kids as a ready made cheap workforce to build an extension.

 

Exploring in the gym                           Introduced to the running machine, rowing machine, cycling machine, weights etc. Training how to pay membership and then avoid. Important for keeping fit and building the muscle.

 

Playing with diggers                             I assume this is playing with the JCBs contractors have left on site after completing the building work. Good idea to put them to good constructive play (or destructive play) use until contractors get around to picking them up.

 

Singing songs, reading stories and riding bikes outside – Yeh! Hi 5 That’s what nursery is all about – and food.

 

To add to my woes I end up spending an extra day in the solitary confinement of nursery because Mamma and Grandad do not need me to babysit them. They’ve gone to the seaside for a holiday! Who’s looking after them, then? I hope they’ve not gone alone, they will cause so much havoc and mischief. Why didn’t they take me? It gets worse.

 

So I need to get back to my own nursery room away from the older cretins. To do that I need a strategy, a plan of action.

 

First thing, always works – the drama queen. As Mum or Dad drops me off at 7.30am I scream more than ever before and throw myself to the floor in protest and drop my lip sulking. They will not want to leave their beloved son in this distressed state and lovingly pick me up and take me home and never take me to nursery ever, again. Hi 5, mission complete. But horrors, it does not work. The heartless b******* just leave me sobbing, and go swanning off to enjoy themselves with a fun day at work.

 

So this calls for even more drastic action.  I will refuse my food. Mum always goes into meltdown if I do not eat. If I do not eat the nursery will ring her and tell her and she’ll come rushing to pick me up. I’ll call it ‘hunger strike’. I’m surprised more people have not used this weapon through history. It would have solved many of history’s problems if people had had more tantrums and gone on hunger strike.

 

So I categorically refused breakfast. That showed them! They’ll soon be moving me back or ringing my parents.

 

But, alas it had no affect. That’s the problem with Mum and Dad they are selfishly having so much fun at work they can never be dragged away. But I was ready to take everyone on, if necessary I can go without food all day, even all week to get my own way.

 

But at snack time I was ravenous and they did bring out fruit salad, – underhanded tricks, vegetable curry for lunch, too. Yes, typical, they were playing dirty.

 

So I ended up with the food for that day and decided to start again on the hunger strike the next day. No breakfast but then as my tummy rumbled they brought out breadsticks for snack time and Veggie Pasta for lunch.

 

Now look I’ve only just turned two, I’ve not quite honed in on my fighting and sticking to it powers yet.

 

Brother Rory has gone up to a new group too. He thinks it’s the best thing ever. He says the older kids teach you loads of new mischief to get into, mischief so mischievous you couldn’t even think it up, mischief that can earn you a permanent place on the Naughty Step. Wow! I think I am warming to the new room.

 

O-oh. Mamma and Grandad are back from the seaside. Grandad says I’ve written too many words. I’ll have to leave it, now.

 

Bye Bye

 

 

 

When I was a lad at school around 13 years old, our Maths teacher used to call me Wol. At the end of the year as we were moving up a class I plucked up courage to ask why he called me Wol. He told meit was thename of the deslexic owl in Winnie the Pooh. With my Harry Potter glasses he said I looked like the Wise Old Owl in the Winnie the Pooh stories.

 

Being the vain person I am I took it as a compliment

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