Fling a ding ding

It is as hot as Hades here.

My plans for pottering round the garden this weekend have been eschewed with a firm hand in favour of lolling about idly.

Turns out I am a blinking genius at lolling about idly. Skilz, as the children would say (to annoy me mostly – I caught them having a heated discussion about how stupid people who say LOL in real life are – good kids).

Tallulah is better. She still sounds like Bonnie Tyler. Her singing is definitely in the ‘husky’ range, but she is singing, and cackling, and speaking like a crazy old Russian peasant, and messing around like there is no tomorrow. So that’s good.

She and Oscar were the best of friends yesterday, which is rather lovely, and yet has an underlying frisson of terror for all who know them well.

They spent most of the afternoon creating something they called a ‘fling a ding ding’ or something. It was basically a pulley made of loom bands (Grrrr…Grrrr…bloody things) which they set up between their bedrooms and used to transport things in a basket from one room to the other.

They were exceedingly pleased with this machine.

‘Oscar! This is genius. We can play Top Trumps and NOT EVEN BE IN THE SAME ROOM AS EACH OTHER!’

They were indeed so pleased that they created an advert for it, which they came and performed for us. They also invited us to the launch party. This involved them writing messages on bits of toilet paper: ‘Mother – Please come to the grand opening at 4.30, 4.40, 4.45. Or Else. Love Oscar and Tallulah.’

Sadly we were unable to make it, but they bought us goody bags as a consolation prize. These consisted of plastic scabs and pustules from Tallulah’s joke stash, wrapped in toilet roll, tied up with more fecking loom bands.

When we opened them they laughed so hard at their own brilliance they actually had to sit down for a minute.

In the olden days, Tilly would have been in on all of this madness. Instead she spent the afternoon at the kitchen table, painting pictures with warm tea (I don’t know why, but she was very pleased with herself), and knitting herself a magenta beard/moustache combo known in our house as a ‘meard’. I felt a bit sad that she wasn’t really up for the craziness of the other’s games until I reviewed what she was actually doing and reassured myself that she is still fairly bonkers, plus, when it got cooler she joined them in the garden to play zombie apocalypse on the trampoline, so things are just as they should be.

Which is nice.

Anyway, if you fancy a Fling a ding ding of your very own, so you too can play Top Trumps with someone and NOT EVEN BE IN THE SAME ROOM AS EACH OTHER, pop a comment in the box below and it can be yours for the magnificent price of, as Tallulah said: ‘£2.99, plus postage, with free shipping.’

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