“Easter egg hunt this afternoon,” I say brightly.
NW looks up from the paper we have bought as a treat because it’s Easter Saturday and we have children but won’t read because it’s Easter Saturday and we have children. “It’s raining, then,” he says.
NG looks out of the window and sighs. She is dressed entirely in pink.
“I will wear my wellies,” she announces, “and then I can splash up and down in muddy puddles like …”
“Yes, yes,” I say tetchily, even though today she looks exactly like Peppa Pig. We have organised
the hunt in a few hours’ time and it’s forecast to bucket down. I think about the Duchess of Cambridge, alone for the weekend whilst William parties like it’s 1999 at his ex’s African wedding and try to pull myself together. “OK, we’ll have it inside.”
“We haven’t got the space,” NW points out, fairly, yanking NC’s hand away from NL’s jaws just in time. And chocolate eggs are …”
“No, no, NO. I want to say it,” NG waves a Weetabixy spoon over NL’s head.
“Go on, then.”
“Choclut is poysnus for dogs. But not people.” She bonks NL lightly on the nose and continues eating. NL, who has heard this a million times before, doesn’t give a shit.
I gaze out of the window at the leaden sky. “If we lived in Anmer Hall, we wouldn’t need to worry,” I mutter.
NW puts the paper down, resignedly. “Why?” he asks, with Samaritan-like patience.
“Because …” I look down at my rhyming clues, taken from Netmums. They are ok. But the Duchess’s would go something like this:
The Easter bunny’s been today
(He had to show ID)
He’s brought some eggs. Not Faberge –
you’ve plenty already.
These eggs are where the horses live
It’s where you go for scooting
But darlings, there’s no guns today.
We’re hunting eggs. Not shooting.
It’s somewhere wet. Tropically warm.
A lovely place 2be
And in the summer, Mummy will
Go topless. (Carefully).
Daddy and I hit balls here
As hard as they will go
And Daddy sometimes plays Gan Gan
Although she is quite slow
This is where I hide your snacks
Your Frubes and Dairylea
Look on the top shelf only, though.
The Moët is for me.
This is your kingdom, Georgie boy
It’s not mine. I’m just Kate.
Your mother. Duchess. Never Queen …
Let’s eat this chocolate.
If you like this, I know it’s not usual to vote for royalty, but I would love a nomination in the BiBs and/or MADs blogging awards for ‘fresh voice’ and ‘new blog’ respectively. Posts and all the details relating to these are:
KEY TO CHARACTERS
Characters are abbreviated as follows:
NW – not William (husband and father)
NG – not George (daughter, sister and two and a half year old)
NC – not Charlotte (son, brother and six month old)
NL – not Lupo (a Labrador)