What should have been a pleasant afternoon of peace, contemplation and gentle running was almost
ruined yesterday by the mobile arguing, fighting and general all-round dissing combo that are
the Hunter babies. For reasons that I'm entirely unable to understand, both were off school
yesterday afternoon so my wife suggested I might like to entertain the little cherubs as I
wasn't required at work.
Excellent, thought I, I'll take them swimming at the Commonwealth Pool. This, apparently was a no-no
'cause I'd forgotten that eldest son had his BCG jag recently, thus swimming is temporarily
verboten. 'Boarding then? No, baby has a kart race finals coming up shortly and didn't want to risk
a sprained wrist on Hillend's killer dry-ski surface. There was no option left open to me other than
the drag out the bike carrier, mountain bikes, helmets, gloves, pads, etc., etc., for a five minute
sprint by car to the start of the nearest hill track. Matters started to go badly awry on the
journey. Now that both babies are attending the same High School they share a common knowledge of
the school and its traditions about which they have their own viewpoints. Thus a fist fight
developed in the back of the car based on whether a particular geography master rode a red Suzuki or
a red Ducati. Despite being younger and smaller, baby Hunter packs a fearsome punch which, when
landed *exactly* on his brothers BCG jag site, resulted in a formal complaint being made to the
fight referee. My call was that it was a foul punch therefore he lost the fight by default, a
decision which seemed to meet with the general approval of both combatants.
We arrived at the trail without further blood-letting, kitted up and headed out. I was running, baby
was behind me trying to park his front wheel between my bottom cheeks, and big boy was about 30m
behind trying to look as though he wasn't part of this happy family outing. Baby usually functions
on the basis that if he isn't talking he can't be alive, thus a constant stream of questions,
comments, advice and ideas spews forth from his little mouth with barely pause for breath.
Fortunately this means that a reply is rarely expected and I was able to maintain my normal speed
without having to slow to 'conversation pace'. As always happens, baby eventually hits an exposed
tree root, tumbles off his bike, and spends the next few minutes trying to kick the tree to death
for having the temerity to interrupt him in mid-sentence. This allows big brother to pass him and
commence his critique of my running style. "Do you realise, you balding duffus" he bellows "that
your right arm flaps more than your left? You look like you're running holding your left breast." He
roars with laughter at his witticism before setting off on a general tirade about my inability to
run faster, my 'gayness' for wearing running tights, my inability to colour-coordinate my outfit,
why didn't I bring some coke for him to drink, when will baby shut up, why am I pushing him towards
medicine when he hates the sight of blood, why can't we go to Australia for Christmas, why do I
dislike his best friend Robbie, what's for dinner, etc., etc.
I suppose the positive thing to take from the whole experience is that I can't recall very much of
the hour and three-quarters run other than the topic(s) of conversation. I was only two minutes
slower than my normal time , felt bouncy at the end, and had the pleasure of seeing two mud-stained
babies united in their hatred of their evil father who'd taken them on an unnecessarily difficult,
muddy and dangerous trip. Total injuries - two bashed fingers, one grazed shin and one grazed ankle
(baby), one sore ribcage (hit boulder when fell off bike) and one cut hand complete with
dizzy-making blood (big boy). Me? Not a scratch. Making the final score Bald, Aging Duffus 27, Young
Smart-Ass Babies 1. Another resounding victory!
Our journey home was completed in relative silence from the crowd in the rear, save for the
occasional grumble about my choice of dinner menu (home-made vegetable lasagne with steamed broccoli
and roast parsnips, Tesco's cherry and almond [censored], Kenyan coffee, brandy snaps). I am, undoubtedly,
the most perfect human ever invented :-)
Roger.