I Q

Went down to the Albert Dock yesterday to see the tall ships sailing. There was, of course, the usual curfuffle* of getting ourselves and baby into the car, sorting the safety chair out, going back in getting the pram, the changing bag, baby food, emergency food supplies and bottle, bankets, spare blankets, toys rainhood, thermonuclear baby shelter etc. then driving there, finding and paying for a space, barging through crowds so we could get a glimpse of tall ship mast.

It was at that moment I realised:

A) I've never been that into ships, tall or otherwise.

B) Neither has my girlfriend.

C) The baby doesn't even know what one is.

and

D) We have a wonderful river-view from our front window.

Thinking back, it was actually the just about subliminal image of a tall ship passing the window that made me say "Ohhhh, shall we go and see the ships today?" Me Lady responded "Oh I was just thinking the same thing." Of course you bloody were! There's a massive bleeding ship just there! There! One that neither of us has even bothered to pass comment on!

But we are a family and we must do family things.

The thing families most like to do is queue.

Sundays, bank holiday week-ends, any glimpse of moderate weather and what do we do? We all get in the car and drive until we find a nice log-jam of traffic. Here we shout and swear and bang the dashboard and act all frustrated. But this is all an act, a ritual in fact. We are not really unhappy. This is what we have come for. When the whining from the back-seat has become more than unbearable and inside the car is the same temperature as the filling in a McDonald's apple pie, this is when we are most at ease. We are thoroughly elated.

Once that queue breaks, we scurry as quickly as we can to a theme parrk, such as Alton Towers or Chessington World of Standing to enjoy a variety of differently ordered and shaped lines for an entire afternoon. At last, an activity that we can moan about as a family! By now we are in our element. All we need now is to wait an hour for a slice of plastic-coated bacon and a cup of warm weak tea in a bleading Little Chef and a further hours traffic jam on the way home to justify the £150 quid that we have spent.

It could drive you a bit mad.

After seeing the top of a few masts, we changed tack ourselves and scurried off to a nice restaurant for extra rations. Not a Little Chef but a nice little dockside eatery. We then went home for puddings, coffees and cuddles.

If you stop following the leader, freedom can be ascertainable.

So long as there's not a queue.


* Curfuffle is a confused shuffle with lots of elbow movements. I think.