Bank Holiday Sunday, 10.35am. Loitering outside the front door trying to get organised for a day out to avoid the tourists. Not too sure where the car key was. Lots of large groups of tourists mooching around with cameras.
With hindsight a clear case of adult/child misunderstanding. Rushing to leave the house for a day out before the traffic halted all chances of a Day of Fun. The Stropper clearly blissfully unaware of any urgency on our part, was piffling about in the vague pretence of looking for its helmet so the roller blades could be utilised. Demonstrating exemplary parenting skills as ever, I was yelling "Just find the damn helmet so we can leave!!"
The light went on "Oh!" said The Stropper, "I know! My helmet is in the big welly!" Such a ridiculous comment received no answer at first. Sometimes the utter drivel that comes out of The Stopper is best ignored. But Stropper was having none of it.
A surprising amount of remonstration. Foot stamping. Bush punching. Pleading and insistence that the helmet was in the "big welly". Clear frustration at our poo-pooing of the suggestion and back turning tactics.
Turned out, after lots of huffing and puffing and further questioning that the helmet was in the boot of the car.
"Seeeeee", said The Stropper, teary and positively shaking with botheration, "I told you...in the big welly boot!"
Dismay Factor Percentage:
Well, quite high if I'm honest. The whole scene was witnessed by a number of passing tourists who showed a level of interest in our domestic situation bordering on rude in my opinion.