Bank Hol

I used to love days out.  They were my contribution to educating my children.  I would speed-read museum information boards and regurgitate them in a form appropriate to whatever age my children  were at the time. 

If we were out on a country walk, I’d point out the flowers and birds, whether or not anybody was listening.

And we couldn’t afford a café lunch for all five of us, so the prelude to any outing was a sandwich-making epic.  I have broken the world speed record for tuna baps.

Nigel and I have continued to visit museums and galleries and to tramp off on edifying country walks,  Nowadays, we even sit down to lunch in the café, instead of heaving a backpack full of sandwiches for miles. Yet it has been somehow hollow since the children left.

But on today’s trip to Fishbourne Roman Palace, I got out my camera and notebook enthusisatically, and even purchased the children’s version of the guidebook.  As we watched a re-enactment of Celtic fighting, I videoed it on my camera.

“The kids will love this,” I said to myself.

Of course, I didn’t mean our children, I meant the children that I shall be teaching next year.  I looked up to see Nigel grinning to himself. 

“I know,” I agreed.  “I’ve found more children”.