Cars and Ducks

Wouldn't it be awful if, three miles into a 200+ mile journey, one of the toddlers was copiously sick all over himself and his car seat?

I daresay this is something that more experienced parents expect and have come to be prepared for, but not so this parent.  No.  We were reduced to screeching off the urban clearway onto some side street and trying to sort out the mess with Pampers wipes.  And then, of course, we had the unadulterated pleasure of driving the rest of the way in a car that stank of vomit.  Nice.

Mind you, I can't complain.  We had driven down to London the day before, and the boys had obediently had a good long sleep on the way, waking up just in time to stop for tea at a service station on the M40.  Then they had done a pretty good job of sharing a strange room and sleeping in strange cots, before spending a fair amount of time in their pram while I faffed about at the Romanian Consulate trying to apply for a certificate of good conduct.  Yes, really.

Of course, they were loving it all because my Mum had come with us for the trip and was totally spoiling them, playing with them, singing to them and feeding them a regular supply of the compressed fruit things she eats which the boys think are "teeties"!

Of course, they had no idea we were in London, so there was little point taking them to see anything.  Instead of sightseeing, we went for a nice long walk in Hyde Park along the banks of the Serpentine.  Having some bread left over from lunch, we thought it would be a nice idea to feed the ducks, and it was then that the boys realised abruptly that they weren't in Kansas anymore!

You see, up here where we live, you can feed the ducks without fear.  They are polite, northern ducks who wait patiently for the bread to be thrown before pecking it up and tilting their bills in thanks.  Not so in the big city.  No, big city ducks are pushy, impatient creatures.  As if it wasn't bad enough that there was a swan as big as a horse (I kid you not!), the ducks were like a horrifying swarm of zombie ducks, crowding out of the lake with their snapping zombie beaks, slapping their webbed feet on the ground as they moved relentlessly towards the tiny chunk of bread that OB was inexplicably holding in his tiny fist instead of throwing.

And then one of them bit him!  Several times!

Now, you might say it was only trying to get at the bread that was in his hand, but I maintain that this huge child-eating duck made a beeline for the little lad's fingers with a beady glint in its ducky eye and its mind on a meatier meal than the crusts on offer.

I only hope he's not scarred for life - I might well be!


  1. Oh no! It will probably one of those stories that get told every Christmas for decades to come!! Thankfully those kind of stories do get funnier with each telling.

  2. Oh good gracious! BAD DUCK! Hope you've bought pancakes and hoisin sauce for the revenge xx

    1. Sweet revenge!! Will definitely be doing that! :)


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