EWAN 2 GEORGE 1 BLOG ON THE BEACH
WEDNESDAY 16th AUGUST 2017
EWAN 2 YEARS OLD
GEORGE 1 YEAR OLD
OUR VERY OWN HOLIDAY BLOG
ON THE BEACH?
George: Hi, George here. Welcome to my world. Won’t you come on in?
Ewan: Sure will George.
George: No, that’s not meant for you. You are part of my world already. You are in my world.
Ewan: So why do you say it every time?
George: To invite people to read our blog.
Do you realise, this is the third day of our holiday blog and we have not mentioned the beach properly.
George: Only when you were chuntering about taking your stupid, raggedly, rocking horse there.
Ewan: I know. But take one of the best seaside books like Lucy and Tom go to the Seaside by Shirley Hughes and you are almost straight onto the beach in the first few pages.
George: But we are only babies, Shirley Hughes is a professional writer and knows what to do.
Ewan: And artist. Have you seen her pictures.
George: Do you think I will be able to draw and paint like that one day?
Ewan: Not a chance. All your talents are passed on in your genes
George: I don’t think I have any jeans. I’ve got some brill dungarees, though.
Ewan: No, silly. Is that a Grandad joke? Genes are not clothes. They are talents or bad habits, in your case passed on to you before you are born by your mum and dad and theirs before them and theirs before them and so on right back to dinosaurs.
George: You mean even back to when Grandad was born?
Ewan: Exactly. And have you seen how your Mum and Dad draw and paint? You ain’t got no chance of doing pictures like Shirley Hughes.
George: We are still not talking about our beach holiday though, that is supposed to be so fantastic we have to take a whole day out of our valuable short lives to get to it.
Ewan: Do you think it is worth disrupting our nursery education and every day life for?
I remember last year’s beach holiday. Boy do I remember it.
Ewan: But you were only three months old. You don’t have a memory at that age.
George: Yes, we do, Ewan, but you know as much as I do, we young ones say that to make adults think we can’t remember but we can really.
Ewan: Exactly. Well done George. You’ve let the cat out of the bag. How many adults are reading this blog?
George: Not many from the statistics I’ve seen.
But all I remember about last year was: eating this grotty stuff called sand, it accompanied every feed I had. Mum and Dad kept trying to stop me putting it in my mouth which due to the oath I’d sworn at birth to always do things Mum and Dad told me not to I had to keep doing and it was horrible. The sand was constantly in my poo, wee and nappy and made me very, very sore. It was in my eyes, my ears and up my nose and I was even still finding it in my cot at home the night before Christmas Eve.
Then all I remember was longing for, no crying for fish and chips to eat. Everyone else were eating them but no one thought to give me some.
Ewan: Wow, man, it did wind you up.
George: Yes! And that’s not all.
Ewan: Oh no, there’s more.
George: Sure is they took great delight in dipping my feet in this ice cold filthy bath water stuff they called the sea. Grandad took millions of photos and the wind blew and the rain rained. When the sun came out they covered me in what looked like Trek cooking fat and put a hat on me that would have won me Champion of the Show in the “World’s Stupidest Looking Baby In A Hat Competition”.
And I was terrified this pigeon they called a sea gull who stole sister Freya’s sandwich out of her mouth was really trying to get me and carry me off to his nest and bring me up as a man gull. These gulls kept waking me with their calls when I tried to sleep which caused me anxiety because I was contracted to sleep 18 hours a day at that time.
Ewan: But just imagine how popular your blog would have been if the sea gull had carried you off.. Missed opportunity there, George. You could have gone viral with that.
George: I know, Ewan, but I was only a baby. I did not have the experience of life I have now a year later.
Ewan: With those experiences, I’m surprised you came back to the seaside.
George: I know Shirley Hughes does romanticise it a little, (a lot actually) and paints a different picture to mine. But you can’t be selfish I have to come for the sake of my parents and grandparents. They love it and need the break.
Ewan: I suppose, but we do sacrifice a lot for them, over and above what is expected I think.
George: Sorry, Ewan, I’ve gone on a bit. What’s your view?
Ewan: Yes, George, you have gone on a bit but I did not mind, it will do you good to get it off your chest.
George: Thanks, Ewan. But it’s not on my chest, anyway, go on.
Ewan: I think someone like Grandad built the beach and the sea. It’s as if someone has said, “Grandad , can you build a paddling pool and a sand pit, please?” And you know what Grandad’s like he gets carried away, goes over the top and has to build the biggest one in the world ever.
George: Would you have preferred a standard paddling pool and sandpit?
Ewan: Suppose. Although, if there had been donkeys on the beach or just Rocky it would have broken it up a bit. Oh, and a beach ball. How can my parents organise a beach holiday and not give me a beach ball. It’s like an Adele Concert without Adele.
George: I did notice that, but then I fell asleep. The beach is a good place to sleep.
Ewan: But then I suppose I surfed a lot.
George: You mean, you had a surf board and dragged it all round the sandy beach and through the pools. It’s hardly what the Beach Boys and Jan and Dean sang about.
Ewan: Well the sea’s scary, it’s calm and warm like Kimberley Leisure Centre swimming pool.
George: The parents look half dead. We’d better take them down the beach and get a couple of sweet lattes down them to liven them up.
Ewan: Sensible move, George.
George: Did you know it’s 40 years today since Elvis died?
George: Who’s Elvis?
Ewan: Don’t know.
© 2017 www.jeanniejeanniejeannie.co.uk Phil Robinson
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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