Welly Boot Land

I don't know how many times I've been to Slimbridge over the years since I became a WWT member - certainly quite a few. But I never noticed that they had a children's play area called Welly Boot Land before today, when a piping voice at thigh level said "I want to go in dare!" and I turned to see the Peremptory Finger pointing at a bolted gate, behind which numerous children were shrieking and splashing.

Though he's not yet at the shrieking stage (happily), and found some of the bigger children's behaviour a little perplexing, the Boy Wonder had a great time, in what I have to say is an excellent adventure playground. We were actually starting to wonder how we would ever manage to extract him, when one of the staff unwittingly helped us out by driving past on a tractor, and parking it opposite the gate. "I want to go an' see it!" said the Boy, so we went - he squelching with every step, "like something from the BBC Radio Sound Effects Department", said R.

By the time we'd examined the tractor it had started to spit with rain, and the Boy agreed that it might be a good idea to go home. "Not Daddy's house. No! We goin' to Granddad's house." "And Grandma's house," I said. "No. Not Gramma's house. Iss Granddad's house." Put in my place by the Patriarchy, I accepted my proper position of lady-in-waiting, and found the Boy dry trousers, socks and shoes in which to travel home. As we drove away - B still observing conversationally to himself, "Not Daddy's house. An' not Mummy's house. An' not Gramma's house. Iss Granddad's house," - R asked him if he would like to go back and play at Slimbridge again another day. "Yes!" he said. "I would."

"I think, said R to me, "we're going to need a bigger pair of wellies."

I wonder if they make anglers' chest waders for two-year olds...?