Yesterday, we went to the Needles Park. This is basically an old fashioned funfair – except that I think that I have never felt anything other than miserable there. When it is quiet, it is desolate (or closed) and sort of spooky. When it is busy it can’t really cope.
So, we queued for about 40 minutes to get my son a go on the zorbs. Except, when he got to the front of the queue, the man said that as he wasn’t five, he couldn’t go on. Yes, it was our fault for not paying more attention to the signs. But he is five in a month and has been on the zorbs several times. And he cried; proper big tears. And I felt terrible (and irritable, I’d been standing in one spot for over half an hour).
Then we went for a terrific lunch (the food was terrific) at the Highdown Inn, where we did our best to win the Worst Family In The Restaurant award.
When we got home, I weeded the terrace, which I’d allowed to get completely out of control. One of my hydrangeas is flowering beautifully but the rest haven’t flowered yet.
I thought I’d actually lost one of my hydrangeas but in the end found it in a load of long grass. I ended up pulling up three builders’ sacks of grass and weeds (totally destroyed my hands on brambles and nettles) and uncovered it, along with some other things.