St Michael's Mount and Other Crimes

So I’ve just been on a very nice holiday to Cornwall with the family. Typical British summertime break - it pissed it down pretty much constantly. However, a nice cottage, plenty of booze and rich food so all’s well. Perhaps my favourite moment was at St Michael’s Mount. If you haven’t been there, I recommend it. A funky castle on its own island – pretty much all you could ask for as an Englishman.

I was sporting a rather fancy new rucksack that has the nifty feature of being able to plonk the littlun securely in the top giving them a fabulous view over the top of your head whilst you enjoy your hike / stroll / shopping / night out clubbing. This particular model includes a fetching and practical rain/sunshade that covers and protects the child whilst still giving them a (somewhat restricted) view off the outside world.

The favourite moment in question involved a quick visit to the gents, made much easier with baby in tow now that she was strapped to my back allowing both hands to be free (and trust me, I NEED both hands). Owing to the fact my daughter was virtually perched atop my head I thought that using a cubicle would be more appropriate, as it would, after all, be somewhat disconcerting to have a lady (albeit a little one) peering over your shoulder whilst you are trying to urinate. I therefore decided that my two soon-to-be urinal neighbours who followed me in should be spared this discomfort.

I have now, I realise, become very autonomous with regards to the cooing baby-babble that parents tend to use when with their youngsters, often revolving around mundane tasks (explaining what one is doing and why, pointing out objects, etc. etc.). This occasion was no exception - I offer a rough transcription of the cubicle visit below:

“Let’s just shut the door… there we go. Right, this won’t take long - let’s just have a wee wee. Are you OK in there? I can’t see your face unless I get you out, you see. There you are. Aaw, aren’t you beautiful? Where’s your hat? Have you lost it? Well, we’ll have a little look for it later. Is Fluffy OK? He can’t get lost, can he, because we tied him onto the elastic. There we go… all finished. OK then, it’s about time to feed you, isn’t it? Come on, let’s go back upstairs and I’ll get you out in the restaurant.”

So I walked back out past the two gentlemen who were, now I think back on it, standing very still and avoiding any glances in my direction or any sudden moves. I washed my hands and left the loos. It was only when I got outside that I realised that with the rain cover in place it wouldn’t have been obvious that I had my baby daughter in my rucksack...

I’m lucky that the police weren’t waiting for me at the restaurant and that I didn’t spend the rest of my holiday trying to explain to a specialist about my unhealthy relationship with my “Little Friend”.