Gee up Neddy, to the fair ….

On Saturday, we (sans M) went to Greenwich Park in south east London with my folks. When you’re sat in traffic in London, it’s easy to forget just how green the capital actually is and how many open, beautifully maintained green spaces there are; and Greenwich, which is the oldest of London’s Royal Parks, is no exception.


You can (deep breath) see a herd of deer, feed Canadian geese by a large pond, climb some weirdly shaped trees, pretend to play an instrument on the bandstand, run down some very steep hills, hire a boat or pedalo, play in the swing park, play in the sand pit, visit the observatory, marvel at the incredible views across London and even take a donkey ride.

Joseph jumped at the chance of a donkey ride and, as I always say, watching your children laugh is just about the best thing ever. With his sister snoring gently in her buggy, I walked a rather dusty old donkey by the name of Bimbo along a well trodden path. A very well trodden path actually, because there have been donkeys carrying excited children up and down the same patch of land since I was very young.

(I would say “poor things”, but it would be a little hypocritical seeing as I paid for Joseph to have a turn).

Anyway, no matter how hard I tried to keep Bimbo walking forwards, he stopped as and when he felt like, munching at the green grass on our route. This, Joseph found hysterical and, in his ancient riding hat which was almost as mucky as the donkey itself, kept on throwing his head back and laughing skywards.

Terrific.

After tea at my parent’s, we drove home to very loud music, laughing all the way and when we got home, they were both brilliant, getting ready for bed in half an hour.

Which helpfully left me with the evening to make a lasagne ahead of Joseph’s Godfather and his family’s visit for Sunday lunch.

I know what you’re thinking; “Eurgh, he made the lasagne the night before, gross. You wouldn’t catch me eating that” and so on.

Let me tell you, food that has been prepared the night before is ALWAYS tastier; I don’t care what Gordon Ramsay or Marco Pierre White say. It’s had hours to cool slowly, soaking up the juices and letting the flavour come through.

Everyone agreed it was very tasty and Ian (Godfather) had seconds so I knew he wasn’t telling whoppers.

I am, according to M, the “lasagne king”.

Well, you’ve either got it or you haven’t, right?