Ducky

The Boy Wonder was charming and funny again today, although I fear I didn't always charm him: it seems that my reputation as a thief of other people's food is getting worse over time, rather than diminishing.

The Boy elected to end his mid-day meal by eating one of the bananas we'd brought for our own lunch, but after skilfully peeling it and breaking it in half, he had just two bites from one of the pieces and then announced that he'd "Finissed." R removed the remains and gave one piece to me, keeping the other for himself. "So, can Grandma and I eat these now?" he asked. "Yes," was the definite response. R ate his, while his grandson watched with approval, but no sooner had I placed mine in my mouth than a wail like an emergency siren rent the air. "Nooo!" said the Boy, as I paused, stricken, in mid-chew. "Iss mine! Give i' back!" "But you said I could eat it!" I argued. "No," he said with finality. "Iss no' your banana, Gramma Djiwll. Iss mine."

As it was now patently too late for the banana to be returned, R produced and handed over the second one we'd brought, which again was swiftly peeled, and the debris disposed of in the compost bin. Again, one bite was taken, before the Boy said, "I finissed. You eat it Granddad," and held it out. "Can I share it with Grandma?" asked R as he took it. "No," said B, scowling at me and then pointing the Peremptory Finger. "Iss not for Gramma. Iss for YOU, Granddad."

Later, while we were trekking around the nearer park so that B could nap in the pushchair, the heavens opened (R completing the hour's route march in the wet, while I stood comfortably dry under some trees), and though the rain had cleared and the sun had re-emerged by the time the Boy woke up, we decided that the playground equipment would still be far too wet for him to use safely, and therefore whisked him off to the further park (which has no playground), and into the Swedish café. We hadn't been here for many weeks, and B was delighted to be bought a cardamom bun and a babyccino once again, while R and I enjoyed their very good coffee.

R and B were sitting side by side on a long bench along one wall of the room, while I sat a few feet away from them so that I could take photos, and somehow the babyccino wound up on my side of the café. On finishing his bun, B slipped down off the seat and walked over, picking up my empty coffee cup and peering into it. "You drunk it all!" he said. "Yes," I agreed, and then saw the accusatory frown appearing, and said, "but that was my coffee! Your babyccino is over here - see?" The Look he continued to give me, as he moved around me to check, could only be described as Suspicious, but mollified by finding his own drink untouched, with the chocolate foam intact, he had a couple of sips and then skipped happily off with Granddad to feed the ducks.

Placing the half-full cup on the serving counter, I said to the café owner, "He says he's finished - but you might want to just put it on one side for a while. If he changes his mind and it's gone, all hell will break loose." "Understood," the owner said, grinning. He's obviously met small boys before.