... and you will know us by the trail of bread
Went here today. It's a nice walk. A saunter. Around a pleasant enough little reservoir shrouded in trees.
I thought it'd be a good idea to take Snicket. Knowing he wouldn't walk the whole way round I took his little trike. It's one of those with a handle so you can push and steer whilst your urchin generally swivels the handlebars in the wrong direction and pedals backwards. What a nightmare. Of course, the wheels are solid moulded plastic and there's zero suspension. Poor old Snicket was taking a ride on a right old boneshaker.
Did he complain? Nah! Well if he did I couldn't hear him over the rattle of the wheels along the rutted track. By the far side of the lake he was pretty much incapable of coherent speech anyway and was shaking like a shitting dog (I think that's an expression). I pulled the collar of my coat up over my face in case anyone had called the police to stop the maniac babyshaker and tried to cheer Snicket up by telling him it was time to feed the ducks. Only then did I discover that he'd been clutching the loaf and, in trying to sneak furtive bites on the juddering journey round the water he'd managed to drop all but a crust.
Trying to look on the bright side I encouraged the little lad to proffer the final slice to the graceful swan slowly drifting towards the shore only for a preternaturally huge Canada Goose to swoop in at the last second, grab the bread and take a nip of Snicket's hand in the process.
Next time I think we'll stay in and watch CBeebies. Far safer.