Sparkly Ice Magic
A peek back at the void between Christmas and New Year. We filled it with grandchildren (and work, which is sort of cheating). Managed to corral four of the little Gs for Granma’s instantly regretted plan. ‘Let’s go ice skating,’ she says, ‘at the Eden Project!’ It’s sparkly magic there and that has made Granma overlook her mortal fear of ice. (Once there was an accident: head… crunch… she still hears the echo.) But sparkly magic is strong, she tells herself. Grandad rubs his knees to comfort them. Oh, but look at those four sparkly magic faces! Pretending altruism, Granma also pays for Uncle E to attend - Uncle E who can actually skate. (He isn’t fooled. He is bribed.) ‘You don’t have to skate, if you don’t want to.’ Granma says 1000 times, to each little G, forgetting that a lack of pressure will compel. So she has to queue for skates, give up the welly boots, mince onto the ice. Grandchild 1 is eight years minus one week; skating a