The fortunes of the day can turn on a sixpence, especially when you forget to use the right word at the right time. “Does the potato fair have a slide? Does it have rides? I can’t wait to get there!” said Raffie, champing at the bit to get out of the car.
“Er no, it’s where they sell lots of special potatoes to plant for the new season,” I said. Desperately wishing I had used the word ‘sale’. Or ‘event’. Or even ‘market’. Anything but ‘fair’.
“Oh,” he said, a look of disappointment darkening his face. I got into the brace position. But, remarkably, he took it extremely well-a great achievement considering how excited he was about the funfair he was convinced we were going to. No tantrums, and no screaming.
After a start like this it can only get better, and thankfully it did, as despite the garden centre not having any rollercoasters or candy floss, Raffie could not contain his excitement.
“I didn’t realise potatoes could be this exciting,” said a very nice lady watching Raffie run amok through the nursery, looking at the seeds and trying to bag up onions. On discovering some ducks taking a bath in a pothole he ran around in circles and joined them splashing around in the sunshine, before heading off into the garden area to see if he could find any chickens.
Having bought more than 60 potatoes we should have plenty to keep him occupied, and he can’t wait to get started. It will take more than a hot bath and a glass of wine for me to recover digging over the allotment this week but for Raffie, the fun (and the chitting) is just beginning.
And with his growing love of gardening, he should know more than his onions by the end of the season.