As it was extremely hot again in Glasgow, I headed out to The Botanic gardens which I like to call The Satanic Gardens...no good reason, I just like mixing my words up, as I am now old I can get away with kind of batty behaviour.
The park was already full of young mums and babies who could now walk, albeit like wee drunken Scottish men. I saw one pink dressed girl with wee croissant type chubby legs, she wobbled about, got into her stride and then the slight slope of the grassy verge took her into a speed that gathered momentum, she was practically sprinting. She surprised herself at the speedy gait she was going at, her upper body was trying to balance and catch up with the bendy robotic legs that just swept her all the way. Her mum dropped a full picnic bag and belted after Zola Budd the baby. I watched wondering how it would all end and it did end, the baby tumbled full tilt into a big blue flowered bush head first and screamed! It was fine, the mum picked her up and the chubby legs speed off again in another direction.
It was funny for a wee while; I got quite broody watching the baby, and then recalled how every time we went to the park Ashley always managed to run in the direction of the only moving car in the park or the only rabid dog in the park or managed to run into a bees nest in an old tree trunk. So, with that in mind I pitied the poor mum who was constantly chasing fatty leg the sprinting baby and lay back for a snooze.
Then annoying students turned up with an electronic glider plane that made girls scream like referee’s whistles as it dive bombed their heads. I sat on my blanket reading happily but silently decided if that glider hits me I would ram it up the ass of the skinny boy with emotional hair, who is running about trying to control it with a small black box. The box seemed to have no control over the object whatsoever. It was pitching and dipping all over the place.
A brood arrived beside me, all middle class moms with Boden clad babies, wooden ethically approved bikes, raffia mats and followed by cucumber eating kids who sported tie dyed tee shirts and fat t-bar sandals.
Couscous, quiche, carrot sticks and organically grown fruit was scattered on a scabby looking blanket (it was probably very expensive and hand hewn, but to me it look smelly) and the kids all gathered round chomping into the grub. Two mums breast fed as the other women organised a sing song. Just then the black glider came out of nowhere and belted a baby on the neck.
It was a joy to behold watching Middle Class Mummy goes mental and snaps the expensive looking electronic aeroplane over her gypsy-skirted knee. The student tried to protest but the breast feeding mummy was rubbing ‘Hugo’s’ neck and screamed “Are you trying to kill our children?”
People stared and people giggled, I watched and hoped middle class mum would ram the broken aeroplane up his ass, but that didn’t happen. Skinny student skulked off and the mummies had a rousing sing –a- long of “Incey Wincey Spider”.
But things then perked up when a bunch of really fat women in strappy yellow and pink vests, with random tattoos over their arms and chests, threw themselves on the grass and cracked open a case of cider. They shouted, swore and started singing “I see you baby shaking that ass” to the park keeper who was cleaning up the grass.
The mummy’s, the kids and the babies were all dragged off to the corner of the park under a big tree and hopefully out of earshot of the fat singing tattooed ladies.
The heat cranked up and before long everyone on the grass slumped down and snoozed for a while. It was like some sleeping drug had been sprayed over the crowd. Even the chubby babies who had been screaming shut up and lay back.
Finally I gave in and headed off home. It got too hot for me, even in the shade I was started to melt. Hope it sunny tomorrow at the park, or maybe I should stay home and write that thing I am supposed to be doing?