Monkey Boy woke in a feral mood of ferally feralness and Godzilla was not much better.
Rather than kill them in the privacy of my own home, I politely suggested they pack their bikes in the car, and we’d all do the family walk/ride thing again. It’s a lovely day. Why not?
Because of ferally ferals, that’s why not?
Monkey Boy almost ended up in the river (I didn’t push him, I promise!!) because he was intent on running into his brother and nearly ran off the path. And Godzilla just cried.
Fortunately, I had the excuse up my 6 year old tracksuit pants leg that I was incorporating short runs into my walk, so it was necessary for me to continue this as part of my regular “training regime”.
Then I bolted! As fast and as far as I could.
Not terribly far at all. They caught up with me. At about the time I thought my heart would quite literally explode and cover the walking track with my innards. By that stage, however, I didn’t care how feral they were … I was dying.
Got home and showered, threated Monkey Boy about his behaviour, went to visit friend in hospital (asked about her bum, it’s all