Children's Books & Writing Stories Once upon a time...  Children's Books & Writing Stories Once upon a time...


W/E 1st October 2016 Post 044




Hi, Ewan here. Yet another exhausting day looking after grandad. It’s a lot to expect from an eighteen month old child. Eight hours this week. It’s tough work, like turning the clock back to when they sent children up chimneys. Although I think that might be exciting.

I keep attempting to get up mamma and grandad’s chimney. They have a gas fire with lumps of interesting black stuff on it. To get up their chimney you have to crawl over these black lumps. But they must be so valuable because every time I attempt to get over them mamma panics like crazy and picks me up.

As you know, grandad has taught me that you need lots of objectives in life to give it a good solid point and direction.

I have mine clearly defined in my mind:

Eat, pooh, sleep, constantly give mum and dad challenges, do my bit for the world economy by providing nursery workers with jobs, being a pain to my brother and then the toughest bit looking after mamma and grandad at least once a week.

I think that’s a well mapped out life, lots of purpose, don’t you.

I’m going to focus on No.1 FOOD today.

My grandad is an amazing cook. I think he should be on Bake Off. He would win so easy.

For me he cooks this amazing “Squiggly Spaghetti with tasty Tomato& Mozzarella Sauce”.

I love to watch the Masterchef at work. I learn so much and find his actions so inspirational.

I thought he would get all the ingredients from Tesco, but no I think its what people call “homegrown”.

He goes to this magic cupboard in the kitchen and takes all the ingredients: spaghetti , tomatos & mozzarella. He obviously prepares them and mixes them together earlier and puts them in this sealed container. To keep the freshness in.

He takes a fork and stabs it again in the top. This is good fun and makes me laugh. We then put it in the microwave for one minute. Then I can’t eat it straight away. I get impatient and scream at him here. He leaves it hours, and hours and hours before giving it to me.

Then when he sits me in my chair and gets a spoon to feed me. Every time. No matter how hungry I am I refuse it. Why can’t he learn that I feed myself, I am not a baby. In the end it sinks in.

But then he leaves me a spoon. What point is a spoon when you are ravenous. And part of the fun of eating is feeling the texture and the tomato sauce between your fingers as well as the taste. I rub it all over my face and hair too. Lovely jubbly.

I do give in and let him have his fun and give me the last bits on a spoon. It satisfies his Grandad duties. At the very end I have to suffer him making out the spoon is a jet plane bombing food in my mouth. Boting, but keeps him happy.

The trouble is he does not know when I’ve had enough. So to try to get the point across I rub spaghetti in my hair and throw the dish with whatever’s left on the floor. He gets the message.

Then, comes pudding. Fromage Fraise. My cousin’s name is Freya. I think it is named after her. Grandad always calls it Fromage Freya, and always finds that funny.

Grandad always approaches the eating of it with a spoon. The fun of Fromage Freya is finger food. The fun of it is the challenge of picking it up with your fingers.

That should be mealtime over, but the fun of Lunch With Grandad is that he does not know when to stop feeding me. If I grunt at him he gives me a Choc-Choc Bear, another grunt – a bag of bear crisps, another grunt a rusk. Get my drift. Good old grandad.


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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