So, we were well into the holiday, we'd done Goonhilly Earth Station where Asperger's Youngest had had a minor meltdown because he wasn't heavy enough to go on the Segway Tour and then Asperger's Son1 had a medium meltdown because we said if one couldn't go then no one would (to avoid unbearable crowing afterwards). We'd done the Eden Project where despite all the amazing things to see in the biomes, the restaurant and the shop were still the most popular attractions.
So it was Thursday, it must be Tintagel. I was particularly looking forward to going up to the castle as the last time we were there we'd gone the wrong way and had to climb down a steep grassy embankment to get to the castle by which time my legs were too wobbly to go up it. This time, we knew better. The five of us, including Grandma, went down the equally steep hill to the castle but at the pay station, Son1 decided he wasn't going up the rocky outcrop path to the castle in case he fell off and tumbled down the cliff into the sea. Now, this is a perfectly safe English Heritage property, not for the faint-hearted, granted, as it is a bit of a climb, but safe nontheless. But he was adamant. He was not going and he was more than a little worried about his Dad going as well in case he came careening off the edgeinto oblivion and then he'd just be left with me, No-Fun Mum.
His fears were both irrational and not, as he is rather accident prone and if anyone could fall down a perfectly safe path and crash on to rocks at the bottom, it would be him. But once he had firmly refused to go up, Youngest decided he wasn't going up either, so my husband and mother-in-law went up by themselves, leaving me to sit at the cafe and watch their progress, while the boys drank hot chocolate. One day I will get up there. One day, before I am too old to manage it.
After lunch, and further fortified by Granny Wobbly's Handmade Crumbly Fudge (not to be missed at Tintagel), we set off in search of a beach further down the coast. The tide was on its way out and there were surfers braving the early April weather to catch a wave or two. The boys made do with rock-pool hopping and exploring and were having a great time, which meant we were too.
Son1 then starts jumping from side to side of a stream leading to the sea, bordered by boulders, some covered in slimy seaweed. Please stop that, I asked. Please stop that Grandma asked. No, we were told, it's fun. You can guess what happened next, can't you?
Hey, who left that slippery seaweed under Son1's feet? A mighty splash and he lands, fully clothed, in the water. In April. Of course, it wasn't his fault. Of course not. It was the seaweed. It was the rock. It was our fault for not buying him some shorts at the surf shop that he had wanted.
So, he got his shorts and a T-shirt as well. The nice lady, a mother of six herself, had seen it all before and put his wet things in a carrier. Son1 is now the proud owner of a very cool Trebarwith Strand Surf Shop T-shirt and is none the worse for wear and I am just glad the lodge we stayed in had a washer/dryer.
I just imagine how boring our lives would be without our own home-grown Comedy Central players. Most people look at us parents of Special Needs children and think how sad we must be. But it's laugh or cry. I know which I would rather do. And just think of the stories we'll have to tell their children.
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