THANK the Lord in heaven above that the school holidays are over. Yes, yes, I know the wee toerags will be back under my feet in precisely four weeks' time, when the Easter jollies kick in (what, so soon?), but until then it's business as usual.
It's not that I don't love the little treasures more than life itself, but the pressures of work meant that for most of half-term the Teenager and the Mild One were left to roam the streets like feral crime magnets (actually, he spent most of his day
s at the local park while she was surgically attached to Bebo, but you can never be too sure). Their younger brother, still too wild and untamed to be let loose on an unsuspecting public, was farmed out to various relatives known for their great reserves of patience and hearts of gold (you know who you are, bless you all).
In other words, I got off easy. A friend from the Weeg was not so fortunate. She brought her brood east for a couple of days, arriving in the capital just before lunchtime. Unfortunately, though Edinburgh is a great metropolis full of cultural wonders, it can't seem to conjure up a café that is capable of selling hot food before noon. And since the children were already gnawing their own arms off, they had to settle for a burger. Which was fine, except when the littlest one got stuck in the toilet, and the door had to be dismantled in order to release her from captivity.
In an effort to pacify the traumatised toddler (her mum wasn't best pleased either), the staff dished out free ice-creams – a nice gesture, except that little Mia's stomach was already on the turn, and the sweet treat was possibly what sparked off the vomiting fit that continued on and off for the next 48 hours.
Undeterred, they proceeded to the zoo, where they spent £35 before even sniffing so much as a meerkat, and then had to negotiate their way through the gift shop – accompanied by the inevitable demands for stuffed penguins and parrots on sticks – before being allowed out. But at least Mia left her mark, in the shape of a pile of fresh puke at the front door.
They also paid a visit to the Edinburgh Dungeon – 'paid' being the operative word, since it set them back a terrifying £48 (this despite the fact that her eldest only lasted 15 minutes before having to be escorted off the premises as a quivering wreck; no refund was forthcoming).
On the bright side, both children loved climbing "the volcano" up to Edinburgh Castle – excellent exercise, with the added bonus that it was free. However, Mum balked at actually taking them inside when she realised it was going to cost her a king's ransom (nearly £40 – not to mention having to run the gauntlet of gift shops once through the portcullis).
Dad, meanwhile, attempted to tour the Scottish Parliament, but when he got there he found it was closed for the day (clearly our elected representatives were so pleased with themselves they'd decided to shut up shop early).
In the end, the highlight of their visit was the £3.10 bus trip on the number 35 to pick up their car – but not before Mum managed to get herself thrown out of the Botanic Garden for jogging. Now it seems that the capital's haven of tranquillity bans not only ball games, picnics and the taking of cuttings of rare and unusual plants for your own greenhouse. "You weren't... running, madam?" demanded the man in the van, looking at her as if she had just barbecued one of the garden's famous squirrels.
So much for Homecoming; they couldn't wait to leave.
