Thursday, August 23, 2012

Steam train, queuing and the word.

1. The hot metal, burning coal smell of a steam train.

2. The queue is long for Tonbridge Model Engineering Society's tiny railway -- but Alec is entranced, so I decide that we will wait. I tell him that it might be too expensive.
"It's by donation," says the lady in front. "I pay a pound."
And I tell him that he might be too little.
"I took this one," says the lady in front putting both hands on her six-year-old grandson's shoulders "when he was about the same age."

3. It is nearly 9pm and Alec has been trying to spit out a word for about half an hour. He is frustrated, and he is fighting sleep.
"Ca. Ca. Ca!"
"Cat? Cap? Cot?" That last gets an emphatic NO. "What is it?"
"Calpol!"*
"Are you not feeling well? What's the matter? Where do you hurt?"
He pauses for a moment and then: "Nap-nap. Poo."
I try to explain that you don't take painkillers for a dirty nappy and that his nappy is sweet and clean anyway, but if he wants me to I'll change him.
He flies into a tearful rage. It seems to burn off his frustration, because once he's calmed down enough to latch on, we both fall asleep.

*Brand name of a strawberry flavour liquid paracetamol formulation for infants. Alec's last dose was three weeks ago, for teething pain -- and actually, it was a generic version which is half the price.