Distracted Dad
Richard Hearn checks out the biomes in Cornwall
It takes 27 Charlie And Lola’s to get to Cornwall. I know this, not because we’ve got some portable DVD player, but because it’s how The Boy measures time, a modern variant on ‘Are we there yet?’
After 18 Charlie And Lola’s, we realised we’d forgotten the Youngest’s ‘special chair’, the one that means he can be awake and you can still do stuff. Just as chaos theory states a butterfly flapping wings on one side of the world can cause a tsunami on the other, so forgetting to load colourful plastic into the car in Sussex leads to chaos in Cornwall.
On Monday we went to the Eden Project. I left two things in the car, half an uphill mile away: the pram rain cover (deliberately, it was sunny, although cold) and the tickets (accidentally). A butterfly must have been flapping its trouble-causing wings again because when we arrived at the visitor centre the rain was hammering down. And we needed those tickets.
“We’re in the rainforest, so The Boy instantly strips off to his vest, like some sort of mini Bruce Willis”
Finally, we got to see the biomes, and other stresses melted away. These are majestic structures, as striking as I’d imagined and all the more impressive for being built inside a quarry. Inside, they’re a botanical feat. We’re in the rainforest, so The Boy instantly strips off to his vest, like some sort of mini Bruce Willis. (Die Hard With An Eco-Conscience? Slated by the critics for an hour-long scene when our hero sorts rubbish into plastics, paper and glass?) Back to reality, and the biome is perfect for a five-month old in one sense (lying on his back in the pram is ideal for gazing at the magnificent glass ceiling), but problematic in another (how to regulate a baby’s temperature in both climates: Cornwall in February and the rainforest?)
Later, we head for Mevagissey, a nostalgic trip as me and my wife camped near there 12 years ago. We promise The Boy an ice cream after his tea. As other parents will know, restaurants don’t give hot water, so we wait – ages –
as they disappear to heat the milk to room temperature. When it arrives, it’s far too hot. We ask for cold water to cool it down. We wait ages again. I then get into a row when the waitress accuses me of somehow making the milk hotter than when she gave it to me. We eat our food annoyed, wanting to leave asap, when The Boy reminds us we’d promised him ice cream. He’s not budging. I know it will only take one Lola (five minutes) for him to eat it, but having argued with the bar staff, I feel a proper Charlie going to order it.
