What a week it’s been so far.
I am exhausted both in body and mind. And today I am going to tell you all about it.
We start our little tale on Saturday. Mrs Hogart came down to visit the dog...and me I suppose... and during our evening meal, reminded me that her sister was coming down to visit with the kids.
“Great” I thought, “it's been ages since I’ve seen the nephews and they love their Uncle Bumferry.”
And so I planned all the things we could with the little tykes on the two days they were here.
Day one... helped their mum and dad put the tent up. And task I had not performed for a long time, and with the briefest of instructions it only took us the best part of all afternoon to put the damned thing up and make sure it stayed up.
The afternoon was quite warm and the kids were already bored. With them being only 7 and 3 there is only so much my dog can do to entertain.
And part one of my fiendish plan to continue my mantle of Brilliant uncle was put into action.
“LET’S GO TO THE SWEET SHOP!”
The kids loved me. Or so I thought. On the car journey to the sweet shop I suddenly realised that the kids weren’t calling me “uncle Bumferry” instead they were simply calling me Bumferry.
Plain old Bumferry and that’s not right. I’m cool with kids. I’m not a weird uncle or crazy uncle. I’m the good kind. That takes time to play the games kids want to play. Eat sweets that they want to eat. Buy comics that they want to read and educate them on which superhero is who while having FUN at the same time!
I’m a cool uncle.
But on that fateful day.... I didn’t even make the grade of Uncle.
I was just another guy. A faceless adult in a world of telling off.
Something had to be done.
During the evening myself, Mrs H the kids and their mum and dad went out for a meal.
The kids wouldn’t eat their veg and it was time for Uncle Bumferry to cowboy the fuck up and reclaim his rightful title.
Firstly upon noticing that the kids refused to eat any of their veg by order of mum and dad, Uncle Bumferry flew in to save the day. “I bet you can’t eat that broccoli before I eat all my chips.” I said.
“Not bovered.” Was the essence of the reply.
Bugger.... my arch nemesis. Broccoli. I hate broccoli. Not only does it not look right when typed out but it’s awful to eat. It may look like tiny green trees but it tastes like stewed crap. I was up against it here and had to use my secret weapon!
Time to think fast...
“I bet you 50p you can’t eat that broccoli before I eat my chips!”
The first of three massive green beg popped into his mouth and disappeared with enthusiastic chewing before I could drag my bowl of chips near enough to start eating.
I steadily ate my chips without any hurry.
The broccoli was finished and I lost 50p. But I had regained the respect of a small child with the result of bribery.
A small price to pay I think you will agree.
For the rest of their time with me I had to remind them of why I am just so brilliant. I had to tell jokes, play tricks, and spin the kids round and round and round and round and round for ages.
I got very dizzy and I ached.
Upon rising very early the next morning we all went to the local farm were the kids could see the horses pigs sheep and hens and rabbits et al.
There was also a giant snakes and ladders and real jeeps the kids could drive around in and at least three climbing frames and bouncy castles to potentially break ones neck on.
By mid afternoon the kids were tired out and my feet throbbed in the way they do when you begin to realise that you are no longer young and have missed your middle years and are in fact OLD.
I am old.
But I am an uncle again – and for that I am grateful.
In the eyes of someone who doesn’t know better. I am fantastic.
This reputation of mine will not last forever. One day they will both realise that I am nothing more than a grumpy miser who hates everyone and craves attention and really hate broccoli.
But for now I am content with what I’ve got.
I also have a respect for people who have kids. It must be a very hard job dealing with screaming horrors that are either eating, pooping or throwing up or crying.
I’ve lasted two days and barely made it through. Some of these people have kids in their lives for YEARS!