mutteringhousewife

I’m sitting on one if those balconies that seem to be made for a durrie and a Vodka Cruiser. I, however, am drinking a glass of AC/DC wine and eating what I want to say are activated almonds, but they’re not.

The kids are having one if those holidays people lament as they gnash their teeth paying for little Brayden’s immersion French camp in Gstaadt. Their daily activities consist of riding their bikes the fifty metres to their cousin’s caravan, jumping on the jumping pillow, making movies of each other on the Moose’s iPad;

And messing about in the river. The river is only waist deep in most places, neck deep under The Rope. I thought I’d pop out with them this afternoon to see what they got up to on the river. The Moose thoughtfully brought our little inflatable boat for me to recline on. It wasn’t until we were out on the water that I realised he’d only brought one oar. You can go around in some pretty tight circles with one oar, but it’s not much use as a motive force.

So the main thing they do on the river is climb a tree on the opposite bank, walk out on the overhanging branch and swing into the water using the provided rope. You can do this pretending to be Gollum, pretending to be an acrobat, pretending to be an old man having a heart attack, pretending to be a chicken that your cousin is shooting out of the tree. Hours of fun.

The other fun thing is to go to the Sinking Sands and corkscrew yourself into the mud. That, apparently is also hours of fun, punctuated by making yourself hairdos and moustaches out of seaweed.

I wonder how I’m going to lure them back for dinner? I’m only offering stir fried chicken and couscous, they may get a better offer elsewhere. They might be making friends with people with a BBQ…