Bushes

on Jun 02 in Bristol, Frivolity tagged by Peter Blackman

On Monday I tool my daughters cycling on the Downs, a large, open expanse of parkland near to where we live in Bristol. The three of us cycled and scootered about, until, exhausted, my youngest girl, Beatrice, could scoot no more. By means of plaintive outstretched arms and repetition of the word ‘head’, Beatrice indicated that she would very much like to be carried back to the car. I complied, and hoisted her up onto my shoulders. I then picked up her scooter, and her ‘bike’ which is one of those heavy wooden bicycles with no pedals. I also had a backpack on - full of their discarded clothes, drinks and snacks. I was therefore - fully laden.

We walked back past a section of the Downs, which though it does not have such a delightful name as the part of Hampstead Heath called ‘Gobblers Gulch’, serves much the same purpose as the Gulch. To wit, men of an outdoor and vigorous persuasion use it to meet and greet one another. As I staggered past the large bushes which separate the road from this more private woodland area of the Downs, two men emerged from the undergrowth. Flushed with exercise and camaraderie, they saw me labouring under the weight of a child, two bicycles and a backpack, and one cheerfully exclaimed:

“You need to get a wheelbarrow”

“And you need to get a room” I replied with a smile, surprising myself that I was capable of wit of any kind when so burdened.

The gentlemen were not amused however, and hissed some vicious insults in my direction. Thankfully Beatrice was too young to understand them, and her sister, Cecelia, had long since pedalled on, and was even then having an earnest conversation with the owner of  two excited Springer Spaniel puppies.

And so it was that we returned home from our scoot.