The Singer, The Clown, and Daddy Toothpaste

Thursday began with a hectic, indecisive start, but by 11:40 we were off, two almost-vans chocked full of Essential Gear, in convoy, journeying to Whitby for the day.

I went with Nick and the twins, in an attempt to make up for working through their stay. Half and hour in, we had drained a small bottle of flat coke, and the rest of the 2 hour journey was spent with the girls sharing its two components – bottle and lid – utilising them as a clown nose and singer’s mic, and enacting high-pitched dramas as such. At rough five minute intervals they’d swap. And every 15 or so, these costumes would be cast aside, in unison and the girls would turn gleefully towards me with the request “You can tickle me, please, Daddy Toothpaste?” and erupt in peals of laughter, to which Nick would retort wearily “It’s can you, not you can, little girls.” Only twice did they bother to correct themselves.

They were not interested in the gorgeous countryside through which we travelled, unlike Nick and I, who marvelled at the sight.

On a quiet, twisty road there was an offshooting track, labelled “Local traffic Only” and I could not help but chuckle, recounting this later to Biz… “This is a Local road, for Local people, there’s nothing for YOU here.”

Whitby was full of the usual sea-side childhood pleasures of wave-jumping, sand castles, fish and chips and gothic content, but the adventure here is far too long to spout forth – I have to work today, as well.