Something For Everyone

Our staycation was going to be a bust if we couldn’t find an activity we could agree on!

YESTERDAY was awful,” Mum says as we discuss where to go for our next outing. “I can’t face another day out with you lot.”

“It wasn’t my fault,” my sister Freya says grumpily.

“I told you I don’t like zoos. I don’t like the smell. I’d rather stay home.”

“I can’t help it if I hate crowds,” I put in. “There are always so many people at the zoo.

“And why do people want to gawp at animals in prison?”

“They’re not in prison,” Mum retorts. “It’s called conservation.”

“That must be a great comfort to them in their tiny enclosures,” I mutter.

“Look, I didn’t mean to drop the ice-creams,” Dad blurts out and we all turn to look at him.

It was embarrassing, but it wasn’t why yesterday was awful. It was awful because we were together.

I’d rather be at home with my mates, and Freya would rather be shut in her bedroom texting her mates.

I’m sure Dad would prefer to put his feet up as well.

It’s Mum who thinks we should play happy families at every opportunity.

It was her idea to have a staycation instead of a proper holiday, and it sounded great in theory.

“I should have a turn choosing where we go,” Dad says, and we stop arguing and stare at him.

Dad never wants to go anywhere. He goes along with whatever gets chosen.

Freya always chooses theme parks or swimming pools with flumes and wave machines.

I’m not so keen on that. Fast rides give me a headache and swimming pools make my eyes sore.

I’d far rather go to the beach and swim in the sea, or explore rock pools and collect shells.

Mum’s not keen on sand.

She says no matter how hard you try, you can’t get rid of it all and it ends up stuck in your clothes and the carpets at home.

Mum always wants to go to farm parks and zoos, but I don’t like those, either.

It’s not that I don’t love animals, but it upsets me seeing them in captivity.

I’d rather watch documentaries about them on telly where they’re in their natural habitat.

Freya thinks animals are boring. She thinks everything is boring.

When it’s my turn to choose, I like going round old castles or museums.

I like learning about history and looking at things people used a long time ago.

Mum sighs a lot when we go round castles. She says one castle is much like another and once you’ve seen one you’ve seen them all.

I tell her you could say the same about penguins and tigers.

“Lunch at the pub doesn’t count as a day out,” Mum says, and Dad grins at her.

“Who said anything about a pub? I was thinking of stuff we did when I was a kid.”

“You didn’t do anything,” Mum points out.

“You always said your folks were too poor to pay for theme parks or zoos.”

“It’s true that they didn’t have a lot of money to spare for days out, but we had a lot of good times.”

“So where are we going?” Mum asks.

Dad taps the side of his nose.

“It’s a surprise,” he says. Freya and I exchange worried looks.

Dad’s not known for his good ideas. They often end in disaster, like when he had the idea to build a summerhouse in the garden.

He watched a video on Youtube about how to do it. Luckily they were able to save his thumb at the hospital and the wood came in handy for the bonfire last November 5.

He’s always watching videos on how to do things.

After he fixed the car, something fell off and it had to be towed to a local garage to be put right.

Then he mended the leak under the sink. Mum got up the next morning to find the kitchen ankle deep in water.

It took her ages to mop it all up. She begged him never to mend anything ever again, but then the lawnmower broke.

He looked up a video on how to fix it, but when he went to do it, Mum had already left for the tip.

“He can’t mend what’s not there,” she

said as she drove off.

He reckoned he could easily have fixed it, but Mum said it was time we had a new one anyway.

“Do we need to bring anything?” Mum asks. “Or wear anything special?”

“Comfortable clothes and shoes,” Dad replies. “How about food?” “All taken care of,” he says mysteriously.

“If we know where we’re going, we can look forward to it,” I say.

“Or not,” Freya mutters ominously.

“Wait and see.” He smiles. “You’ll love it.”

The next morning he’s up before anyone else and, I have to say, looking far more eager to be setting off than he normally does.

We head out of town and pass plenty of brown signs pointing to various attractions, but Dad bypasses them all.

“How much further is it?” Mum asks.

“Not far,” he replies, then he starts to hum a merry little tune.

“You’re not lost, are you?”

“No, love. I know exactly where I’m going.”

He turns off the main road into a narrow lane which twists and curves and takes us deep into the countryside.

Mum sits in the front of the car, clinging to her seat and squeaking with fear.

She hates driving down narrow country lanes.

Suddenly everything opens up and we get a glimpse of hills and fields that go on for ever.

“That’s pretty,” Mum says as we go down a steep incline and Dad turns on to a piece of rough ground.

“Are you allowed to park here?” Mum asks nervously. “Are you sure you know the way home?”

“Yes and yes,” Dad says, and I hope he didn’t get the idea from a Youtube video.

We get out of the car to stretch our legs.

“It doesn’t look as if there’s anything to do,” Freya says.

“I can’t even hear music or anything.”

“But you can hear birdsong, right?” Dad asks.

Freya looks at him as if he’s mad.

“Is it a farm park?” Mum asks. “I can see some sheep in the distance.”

“That will be a farm, love,” Dad says.

“This looks boring,” I say, and realise I’m turning into my sister.

“We’ll see.” Dad grins and takes a backpack out of the boot before picking up our trusty cool box.

He hands us all a bottle of water and we set off up the hill. The track takes us through the woods.

By the time we emerge at the top, Freya is complaining about her aching legs and Mum reckons she’s got blisters on her blisters.

But the view is spectacular. You can see so far, the distance is just a hazy bluey-green blur.

“That’s the sea over that way,” he says, and we can see it shimmering in the sunshine.

“It’s too far to walk,” I point out, disappointed.

“We’re here for a picnic,” he says.

“A picnic?” Mum gasps. “You drove all this way and made us walk miles for a picnic?

“We could have had a picnic in the park near home.”

“But you wouldn’t have had this view, would you? There’s a pheasant. And a hare. Look around you!” “Squirrels!” Mum cries. Dad spreads a blanket on the ground and starts to unpack the food while Mum rushes about taking photos and getting excited about a butterfly she’s never seen before.

“Boring.” Freya rolls her eyes and I roll mine in solidarity.

Dad’s made a variety of sandwiches and there are mini sausages and slices of quiche.

He’s filled little pots with tomatoes and sliced cucumber, and bowls of grapes and chopped up watermelon.

We’re starving and Dad urges us to fill our boots, so we tuck in.

He’s brought chocolate mini rolls for after and they’ve gone a bit gooey in the heat, but they’ve never tasted so good.

“Can we go home now?” Freya asks as we pack up.

“Certainly not. The day is still young,” Dad says. “I’ll just sort your mum’s feet out, then we’ll get on.”

He has plasters for mum’s blisters and says he knew she’d need them because she wouldn’t know sensible footwear if it ran up and kicked her.

The path takes us further through the woods and I can hear running water.

There’s a little waterfall tumbling over the stones and we take off our shoes and paddle in the stream.

Mum’s over the moon when she sees a kingfisher.

“I’ve never seen one before! It’s awesome!”

Well, at least she’s having fun.

“Look at me!” Freya calls out, and we watch as she skilfully gets to the other side of the stream via big rocks without falling in. “Come on, Poppy!”

It’s not really my thing, but I have a go and I get almost to the other side when my foot slips, but Freya reaches out and pulls me on to dry land.

We collapse in a heap, giggling, and I notice Dad is holding Mum’s hand as they look for more kingfishers.

From there, Dad leads us along a shady lane which leads us to some ruins.

“It used to be a castle,” he says. “This is all that’s left. Imagine the battles here, Poppy.”

Freya picks up a stick and waves it at me.

“Find your sword, peasant!” she shouts.

“Peasants didn’t have swords,” I say, but I find a stick and we chase each other round the ruins while Mum and Dad sit on the grass and soak up the sun.

Before we leave I read the plaque with information about the castle and make a note to Google it when we get home.

A bit later we pass a field of sheep and Mum leans over the fence to stroke their soft, oily heads.

“I love sheep,” she says.

“They’re like woolly dogs.”

We all stroke the sheep and in the next field there are beautiful horses that come over to see us.

In a clearing, Dad digs out a rounders bat and a ball.

“There aren’t enough of us for rounders,” Mum protests.

“Of course there are. You and me against the girls.”

It’s stretching it a bit, but it makes me laugh so much that my ribs ache as we charge round.

Freya and I win easily and we dance around in the sunshine, cheering and whooping.

Dad has his arm around Mum now. We stay there for a while.

Freya climbs a tree and Mum looks for wildlife. Dad’s brought binoculars and I look for distant landmarks so I can look up where we’ve been later.

Weary, we head back to the car.

“I have so many photos of animals and birds,” Mum says.

“I’m starving,” I say. “Is there any more food?” Dad laughs.

“We’ll stop for something to eat on the way home.”

“We could get fish and chips,” Freya says.

We’re all sun-kissed and sleepy as we climb in the car. It’s been an amazing day.

“Where did you get the idea?” Mum asks. “It was genius.”

“It’s the sort of thing my family used to do,” Dad remembers.

“I always thought we were missing out, but with hindsight, perhaps not.

“I thought if I told you what I had planned, you’d all object.”

He’s probably right about that.

“Can we do this again?” Freya asks. “But somewhere different?”

“I know lots of places like this.” Dad grins.

“Glad to hear it.” Mum laughs softly.

He hums a merry tune as we head for home.

My sister and I lean on each other and doze.

It’s been a perfect day with my perfect family. ■