Simply Sue: The Costa del Barnsley
So why go all the way to Spain when you can have fascinating experiences on the Costa del Barnsley?
Simply Sue by Sue Papworth - It was high summer on the Costa del Barnsley. Down beyond the low tide mark, on the mud-flats, the visiting birds were in bank holiday mood.
The Canada Geese were strutting about loudly like the wild colonials they were, the ducks were blatantly ignoring the signs that said PLEASE DO NOT FEED THE DUCKS, IT'S ACTUALLY BAD FOR THEIR INNARDS and demanding Wonderloaf with menaces, and the coot were demonstrating just why the expression "Silly Coot" originated.
Most water birds have got a bit of a design fault when it comes to walking about on dry (or dryish) land, and the coot clearly thought there was a talent scout from Disney around, and were doing pratfalls all over the place.
One did the splits and landed flat on its beak right in front of us, and the rest queued up to do their audition piece right after it.
The geese goose-stepped past, and motored on down to the other end of the lake to develop their protection racket with the as yet unmolested picknickers down there.
We tried to disguise our coolbox, and snuck a bit higher up the hill to hide under a tree.
When we‚d unpacked it, we sat back to watch the cabaret develop. The sign said "No horse riding", and I'd just said "D'you suppose it'd be OK to bring the camel?" when the guy galloped past us riding on one of those things that consists of two wheels, an axle and a bike seat, attached just to the rear of the horse.
He wasn't actually riding the horse, so that was clearly OK. I made a note to go back with the camel later.
On the nursery slopes below us, some serious walking practice was going on.
A very small person wearing reins, his grandma and a dogged expression was
going one step at a time in the general direction of nowhere in particular, but doing it with very evident determination.
Two very small girls were doing endless lengths of an invisible track that ran between Mum (flaked out under a shrub) and an elderly tree on crutches that had clearly seen it all before and was dozing lightly in the sunshine.
If you could have bottled the apparently limitless energy they were putting into it, you‚d have made a fortune. It looked like Mum could have done with a bit:she never moved all afternoon.
After lunch, the Triangular Test Match recommenced. The bit to our left was on a rather dodgy wicket, since the bit of ground between the two trees standing in for stumps would have made a good scramble circuit, but enthusiasm seemed to be making up for no-one‚s having a clue which way the ball would go next.
Down hill, Mum and Dad were playing bent double, with a pygmy bat made of
screaming pink plastic, whilst the world-weary toddler on the tartan picnic rug tried hard to pretend he wasn‚t with them. He raised an eyebrow at passers-by as if to say "Well, you have to keep them amused during the holidays, don't you?"
The third bit of the action, over to the right, was very up-market: they'd
brought their own wicket, glued firmly into a chunk of wood. Mum and Grandad did their best against a pair of knee-high demon bowlers, whilst Grandma dozed on a bench.
When Mum was clean bowled, Grandma woke up, toddled over - and started welting sixes all over the shop, until at last the ball landed in the lake, scattering a load of wild colonials.
Dicky Bird couldn't have faulted it.
Yes, it was high summer on the Costa del Barnsley - and you wondered why folk ever bothered to go to the other one.
