34 G&E LAKE DISTRICT

 

10th JUNE 2017

EWAN AND GEORGE

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TOGETHER SPECIAL

 

THE LAKE DISTRICT - BAGS PACKED

 

 

 

George:                  Hello Ewan. Welcome to my world, won’t you come on in.

 

Ewan:                    Sure thing George. I love your easy going world.

George:                  It’s a bit too easy, though, easy like a Sunday morning. (Easy by Commodores - Lionel Richie was lead vocalist Reached No.9 in Charts 13.8.1977)

 

Ewan:                    What you going on about, George? Where did that come from?

 

George:                  I don’t know. Grandad, interfering again, and putting words into my blog.

 

Ewan:                    Tell me about it. He says the same record was No.15 in the Chart when my mum was born. Look at this face, George, does it looked bothered?

 

George:                  No Ewan, it doesn’t. Anyway, we’ve not met up lately. Why’s that? Are they keeping us apart so we don’t talk mischief? Where you been hiding? Behind the curtain?

 

Ewan:                    I don’t think so. Me, Mum and Dad and Brother Rory went on holiday to the Lake District with Mamma and Grandad.

 

George:                  What’s the Lake District?

 

Ewan:                    It’s seaside without the sea and sand.

 

George:                  So is it just shops?

 

Ewan:                    No it’s all lakes and huge, massive mountains.

 

George:                  What’s a lake?

 

Ewan:                    A giant puddle of water.

 

George:                  Like the one I make every time Mum or Dad takes my nappy off and I do a wee on the floor.

 

Ewan:                    No, no, loads more than that. Imagine if you were as old as Grandad and kept all the wee’s you’d ever done in life. That much water in a hole at the bottom of the mountains.

 

George:                  And what are mountains.

 

Ewan:                    Hills but bigger.

 

George:                  Why have a special word for them, why not call them big hills?

 

Ewan:                    Because then you’d have a spare word – mountains – and it wouldn’t mean a thing.

George:                  What are mountains used for?

Ewan:                    For walking up, but its law that you have to make funny noises as you go up. At the top you say “Ahh!”. Take a selfie and walk back down.

George:                  Why?

Ewan:                    I’ve thought about this a lot and I think it’s to give walking a point.

George:                  So I finally learned to walk by myself this week after hours of effort and bumps, bruises and tears just to walk up a big hill, take a selfie and walk back down again?

Ewan:                    Afraid so.

George:                  B******* What a waste of time and effort. Why did Mamma and Grandad go on holiday and take you and Brother Rory and not take me and Sister Freya?

 

Ewan:                    There were empty rooms where you and Sister Freya and your Mum and Dad should have slept. But my Dad said you did not come because your Mum doesn’t like walking except round shops. When she climbs mountains she doesn’t like how her high heels gets mud on them and the wind blows her hair out of place.

 

George:                  In that case it was pointless, me learning to walk, then?

Ewan:                    Not really because I didn’t walk up mountains any way. Dad put me in a rucksack with my legs and feet dangling out of holes at the bottom and carried me on his back up this mountain.

 

George:                  I wouldn’t like being put in a rucksack. I’d be scared in the dark and it would be smelly and things would bang my head.

 

Ewan:                    No you wouldn’t be scared. Your head sticks out the top. It was brilliant. It gave me an adrenalin rush because he walked up this waterfall mountain. The white rapids of water were rushing down towards us. I was scared that at any moment we would be washed away. But my dad is huge and strong and intelligent and so stuck to the path.

 

George:                  So we could have gone on holiday with you. Dad could have had a rucksack to put Mum in to carry her up the mountain and Grandad could have carried me.

 

Ewan:                    Never thought of that. But, yes. And we did lots of other amazing things too.

 

George:                  Like what? Tell me. Tell me.

 

Ewan:                    We went to a pencil museum.

 

George:                  A pencil museum?

 

Ewan:                    Yes, and you are right to pull a face. It was boring. Loads of pencils lying around just like being at our home on a wet Sunday afternoon. Brother Rory loved it because there was an area to draw and colour. I drew a picture of my Dad carrying a real live giant T Rex on his back in a rucksack up a waterfall on a mountain. It only took two minutes. But then Mamma showed me this huge bell I could ring.

 

George:                  Why was there a bell in a pencil museum?

 

Ewan:                    To keep kids like me amused. After all why put pencils in a museum? What’s the point? (No pun intended)

 

George:                  What’s a pun?

 

Ewan:                    Don’t know. Grandad’s putting words in my blog again.

 

George:                  Fair enough.

 

If all you did was be carried up a waterfall and have a selfie taken and ring a bell in a pencil museum I’m glad I didn’t go.

 

Ewan:                    No, no, they were just the boring bits.

 

George:                  So go on, what else.

 

Ewan :                   We played football for hours and hours. There was a massive garden, I think it was a giant’s garden it was so big. It was so big my dad could kick my ball as hard and high as he could and it still stayed in our garden. Mamma bought me a beautiful big red ball with a smiley face on it. My ball. I had to keep insisting it was “my ball”, otherwise people take advantage of a wee little mite like me. I insisted so much it ended in tears and Mamma had to buy Brother Rory one, a yellow one.

 

                                Hey, hi five, my man.

 

George:                  Hi five,

 

Ewan:                    Then we went to the World of Beatrix Potter and on a Boat Trip on Derwentwater and visited a Country Park with zebra and monkeys and great big snakes and tortoises. We visited fairies at this huge big real castle. And if I’ve not already mentioned I went up a waterfall mountain. But best of all we dropped pebbles in the Lake huge massive things that made big splashes and went on a worm hunt with Grandad. And ate fish and chips.

 

George:                  What’s a worm hunt?

 

Ewan:                    Like a bear hunt but no field to go through or stream, or wood or snowstorm or beach, and not so scary or dangerous. And you don’t find a bear at the end, just two or three worms.

 

George:                  Wow, that sounds fantastic.

                                (He pauses for thought then says with a query in his voice) Why? What’s the purpose of hunting worms?

 

Ewan:                    Don’t know. Brother Rory says it’s amazingly fantasmagorical. So it must be.

 

George:                  Never heard Sister Freya say that about worms or even suggesting a Worm Hunt.

 

Ewan:                    That’s because you or she have never been to the Lake District. Everything is magical there.

 

George:                  But it can’t be much different to my half term week. We went to so many fun places, theme parks, soft play areas, country parks, even a farm and Fairy Godmother Emma and Price Charming Daniel took us on a boat. My Dad, Grandad and Uncle Steve even built a shed for my toys.

 

Ewan:                    Yes, but no matter what you say it’s not the Lake District and you didn’t have a 7 night sleepover with Mamma and Grandad, which means 7 nights  and 7 days of no discipline and doing whatever you choose because Grandad and Mamma rule and they overrule Mum and Dad!

 

George:                  Wow! Yes, my fantasy, my dream. But you’ll never convince my Mum that she would be better off in the Lake District.

 

Ewan:                    Yes, it’s easy. You’ve heard about fake news.

 

George:                  Have I heard of fake news…? Where do you think I’ve been in the last year? Everybody’s heard about fake news.

 

Erm, no, I’ve not actually. What is it?

 

Ewan:                    It’s news that’s fake, not true. So just post a fake news item saying “John Lewis has opened their biggest ever flagship store on the top of Haystacks in the Lake District”, for your Mum to read. She’ll read it…

George:                  …and she’ll be there faster before I’ve downed my bottle.

Ewan:                    Exactly. But just to make sure add an item that says, “Researchers have found that rough hillside paths are the best thing in the world for bedding in ladies high heel shoes.”

And, “L’Oreal have announced that they have found that a mountain wind blowing your hair styles it better than their Boost It Air-Whipped Densifying Mousse which amplifies hair creating a denser silhouette and touchably soft bounce.”

And you will be on to a sure winner.

 

                                Lake District here we come, me, you and everyone.

 

George:                  Ewan, you are a genius. I’m so glad you are my cousin!

 

Ewan:                    Thanks George and I’m glad I’m your cousin. And do you know what?

 

George:                  What, Ewan?

 

Ewan:                    I’m glad you are my cousin too. Best go and pack ready for our Lake District adventure.

 

George:                  (Excitedly)Yes! Bye then.

 

Ewan:                    Bye Bye

 

George:                  Ewan, what do I need to pack?

 

©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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