Car Booters

Hello, George here. Welcome to my world. Won’t you come on in?

I wanted to call this: “Where have all my toys gone? Gone to car boot sales. every one”. But Grandad said the title was too long.

Let me tell you about it.

One thing we did do recently was go to Mamma’s B&B. I often wondered what B&B meant, I now know it is Bottle and Books.

There are always loads of books at Mamma and Grandad’s house I love it. It’s a Book Planet.

At home I am banned from having a bottle but at Mamma’s house she over rules Mum and Dad and she insists on giving me a bottle. She says it is a comfort for me. And she’s right, I find it soooo soothing.

We also had a sleepover there. Sister Freya was downgraded to a cot to sleep in. I had what they patronisingly called a “travel cot”. Because I’d just been to Padstow, a famous fishing village in Cornwall, I had learned all about lobster pots that you catch lobsters and crabs in. So I knew this was no travel cot but a lobster pot. Would you believe it? They saw me as a crab!

The reason we did a sleepover was so that Mum and Grandad could do a Carboot Sale. I discovered what a Carboot is all about too. When Mum and Dad run out of money Mum takes most of mine and Sister Freya’s toys and sells them. With the money earned she buys us new ones, more suitable for our age. But, of course, as she sold the old ones for half their cost or even less, she can only buy us half as many toys.

This goes on year in year out and the number of toys go down and down until when you are as old as Mum and Dad you have no toys. Would you believe they survive without any toys at all?

Although I suppose Dad still does have his cycle. Oh, and I think he may have some golf clubs he keeps hidden from Mum in the garage.

Mum sells a lot of clothes at the carboot too. Not just mine and sister Freya’s but her’s and Dad’s too. Trouble is the same thing happens, she only gets half price or less to buy more. So each time she can only buy half as much until it gets to virtually none.

In the case of toys that doesn’t matter, we can all manager without those. But clothes are a different story. As Mum is a school teacher and she needs to look presentable, which is not easy with an ever decreasing wardrobe. So, the very kind school where she teaches give Mum some money with some fancy title like wages or salary. The purpose of it appears to be to go out and get herself kitted out with party frocks.

Anyway, Carboot Weekend was good fun. I miss all my toys and I notice some of my favourite clothes have gone. But it’s a small price to pay for the quality time I had with Mamma whilst Mum and Grandad were at the Carboot.

A big disappointment  to me was not starting school. There seemed to be this big thing about starting school: Sister Freya, Brother Rory and Prince George,were all doing it. So Ewan and I automatically thought we were too. We thought everyone did it come what may in September. Like December everyone celebrates Christmas, Mar/April everyone has Easter eggs. February everyone gets a Valentine’s Day card (well most people), March Mother’s Day, October Halloween and in May everyone celebrates my birthday.

So obviously, September everyone starts school. You can’t leave people out.

So, the first day of school came. I get myself psyched up. I’m so excited. I made big plans about marking my territory in the playground, worked out how I was going to kick my teacher into touch. And what happens? Sister Freya goes to school and I am dumped back at nursery.

Boy did I cry. Through sheer frustration, you understand, not mardiness or because I was a little, biddy baby needing his mummy.

Ewan tells me exactly the same thing happened to him and he had the same expectations.

But worse was to come!

I learned I would not be starting school until the September after my 4th birthday. That is September 2020. That is two lifetimes, three years away.

I have been at nursery for what seems like half a life time.  Then again as I started nursery in January 2017 and was born in May 2016 it is half a life time.

And I still have 3 years to serve. What did I do that was so bad that I get such a stiff sentence?

I wonder who made that decision. I bet it was Mum. She makes ill thought out decisions like that, you ask Dad, he knows.

And how come Ewan only has to wait 2 years. There’s some favouritism going on there, even probably bribes, dare I say.

Don’t get me wrong, it is not that I don’t like nursery. I do, I’ve settled in very well. Everybody now knows who is the cutey and who is boss, so I’m very comfortable. But I’m no different to all children, I’m not satisfied with my lot, I always want to be doing what the older kids are doing.

Oh, sorry Dad, you waiting for me. I’ll get my coat. Just off down the pub for a quick pint with Dad and Uncle Steve and Grandad Reed.

What Dad? I’m not old enough. I’m 16 months old. I’ll be too old to pick up a glass by the time you think I’m old enough.

Anyway, Bye, Bye,

George.