A grand day out?

Oh dear.  Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.  A sunny day beckoned and I rather lost my head.  Farmer Boy was visiting and deranged by sunshine, I decided we would visit a local 'Country Park' complete with the Terror.

I had not been to this park in twenty years; when we were at school Maddy and I used to get the train out with our dogs and spend the afternoon.  Unfortunately we generally spent the afternoon hunting futilely for our poor West End dogs who would inevitably become giddy with the country air and run off.  Twenty years ago, it was the remnants of an old estate; woods, fields, lakes, moors, bogs and a smattering of ruined castles abounded.  There was the odd track to follow, but mostly one simply roamed at will.

These days it has been given an utterly unspeakable makeover.  There are cafes and restaurants, a garden centre, a children's park, and a visitor centre.  It's vile.  Ugly paths have been built to shepherd you round to their master plan , like a giant outdoor Ikea.  And the Great Unwashed have discovered it.

Thus as we bounded out the car, we were met by a sea of straining animal print lycra and unfortunate dye jobs.  The birdsong was drowned out by the sound of snotty wails and screams of "Chantal!!!  Dinnae dae that, or I'll batter ye!"  We attempted to make the best of it, and set off to explore lakes and castles undaunted, hoping the Great Unwashed would be too afraid of being more than 50 feet from a Lard Emporium to venture far from the café. 

We were mostly correct, although away from the café we found the woods thronged with surburban spaniel walkers, all called Jasper (dogs and owners), all merrily bounding along with sticks in their mouths, walking to heel and coming when called  (again, dogs and owners), while their Boden clad cherubs asked boring questions about trees.

We received the usual looks of disgust from the clean and tidy parents and children and dogs, as the Terror had just eaten a baby rabbit and still had bits of fur stuck to his mouth, and the boys had rolled in mud again before we set off.  Add to this that their nature lesson consisted of Farmer Boy giving a loud and detailed description of artificial insemination to the Beast, and I concur the Jaspers possible had a point. 

Slightly daunted by now, not least by the Terror's new trick he has worked out, where he winds his lead around another dog's legs, hobbling it effectively, so he can attack it, we ploughed on.  We reached the lake, where we discovered a stray gathering of Great Unwashed, roaming uncertainly along the shore, searching in vain for a KFC. 

Having done my parental duty by shouting "Don't fall in the lake, you will get wet" at the boys, I proceeded to ignore them as they promptly fell in the lake.  This was too much for the Great Unwashed, who clearly felt I needed to be warned of the dangers of the countryside, in the following exchange.

"Hoi! Us that yer weans?"*
"Yeeees."
"Thur in the watter."
"I know."
"But thur al' wet!"
"Yes.  Yes, they are"
"But it's no' safe."
"They can swim."
"Aye, but there's ducks an' that.  It's no' safe, they could ATTACK."
"I don't think they'll attack a duck?"
"NAAAAWWW, the ducks'll peck them an' that.  Could huv thur eyes oot."

At this point I noticed the Terror had lifted his leg on her leopard print nylon pantaloons, and I beat a hasty retreat, leaving the boys to their fate with the killer ducks. 

Having fished the boys from the lake further along the shore and agreed that yes, they were fucking wet, really, what did they expect, we proceeded to the ruined castle.  Here we found another pocket of Unwashed, possibly drawn to the man made structure in the hope of Pot Noodles. 

The boys poked disconsolately at the ruins; I have forced them to frolic on many ruins lately and their frolicking enthusiasm was waning.  Luckily the Terror cheered them with some impromptu cabaret when a very fat and very stupid King Charles spaniel waddled over to try and be friends.  Outraged by its presumption, the Terror dispensed with all normal dog fighting niceties and stood on his hind legs and hit the spaniel very hard on the nose.  Clearly stunned and surprised, both by the attack and the nature of it, the spaniel stood there whimpering, so the Terror hit him again.  And again.  And again.  Oh how we laughed!  Till we saw the large and angry owner bearing down on us, and once again, we ran away (we seem to spend a lot of time running away).

*"I say!  Are those your darling moppets there perchance"
"Yeeees"
"They do appear to be frolicking somewhat in the lake"
"I know."
"I expect they may be a trifle dampish?"
"Yes.  Yes, they are"
"Have you no concerns for their safety and well being?"
"They can swim."
"Jolly good, but I say, what if there's a duck attack?"
"I don't think they'll attack a duck?"
"Oh gosh no, a duck might maraud, could have their eyes out."