Hats the way to do it

When the sunny weather comes along we always have the sun hat problem. The one when we put the sun hat on to George's head and he immediately grabs it and throws it off – which often leads to a mini tug-of-war in a grapple for control of the hat.

Of course, George doesn't realise we're trying to cover his head for his own good, he seems to think we're just trying to annoy him – in a similar way we annoy him during the sun cream wrestling.

However, it looks like we have found the solution and the sun hat problem is now hopefully consigned to the past...

On Monday we visited Drayton Manor Theme Park with Nanny and Grandad, Aunty Nikki and cousin Tom. George was delighted when he realised he was in the middle of Thomas the Tank Engine land and loved every ensuing minute. With the sun beating down we tried, using distraction and stealth, to plonk a hat on his head but George was having none of it and we soon gave up. Instead we sought the shade which sometimes came in the form of Harold the Helicopter, Percy's train or one of the other many rides.

It was a in the Thomas gift shop – another source of cool shade – that we spotted a Thomas Land baseball cap and decided to give it a try as it had a picture of Thomas on. George examined the hat, said "Mhomas hat" a few times (most of his Ts are pronounced M at the moment), decided he liked it and let us put it on his head.

Our son has got his hat on – hip, hip, hip, hooray!

And so the plan worked. In fact it has worked so well, he wears it nearly all the time. Thing is we now have another hat dispute – and I honestly don't know where or how George has learned this – when we put the Thomas cap on George likes to take it off and put it back on with the peak at the back... I don't know – the first signs of delinquency and he's only just two!

Riding and running

You'd be forgiven for thinking that we spent the entirity of our break in Great Yarmouth taking George on sit-on rides. After all, when we flicked back through the holiday snaps it looked like George had been on every one in East Anglia...

An Eddie Stobart lorry,

an ice-cream van,

a fire engine,

a steam train,

a double-decker bus,

an American truck,

sorry – no idea what this is,

a Jess the Cat plane,

a mini ferris wheel,

and Iggle Piggle's boat.

But that's not all we did. After a trip to the Sea Life Centre, George's favourite word became 'Nemo'. He also enjoyed a ride on the Donkeys and running along the beach. In fact, he ran at every opportunity, in any direction, as fast as his little legs would carry him. He chased rabbits, magpies, blackbirds, squirrels and ducks...

And at the end of every day, after all that excitement, running about and sea air, it wasn't only George who felt like this...

Picnic interruptions

Last weekend we went for a picnic in St Nicholas Park, Warwick, and there seemed to be a charity event/run taking place.

The first thing George saw as we put him in his pushchair at the side of the Avon was someone in a bear costume sitting and waving from a huge swan-shaped pedalo in the middle of the river. It made me wonder what went through his mind and whether he thought he was simply witnessing an aspect of British wildlife.

We walked between regular park goers and fancy-dressed fundraisers to the mini fairground where George took a trip on the mini train, and not long after that we found a spot in the middle of a huge expanse of grass to have our picnic. First of all we got the 'Winnie-the-Pooh' football out and chased it around for a while, which George thought was hilarious. He's actually pretty good at dribbling – but only in one direction. So by the time mummy had spread the blanket out and opened the picnic basket, George and daddy were about half a kilometre away.

The next problem was trying to keep George in one place while he ate his Dairylea sandwiches, olives, cheesy Wotsits, etc. After a few trips retrieving him from heading towards the swings and roundabouts, the final straw was when he put his foot in mummy's cheese and cucumber sandwich and ground it into the plate like a cigarette butt. That was when we decided he was best back in his pushchair where he happily munched away on the rest of his food.

I really thought I could at long last recline in the sunshine (Nanna phoned from her holiday while we were there to say it was raining in Majorca) and enjoy my sandwich without interruption. Alas, it was not to be... George let go of his cheesy Wotsits bag and the empty packet tumbled away in the breeze. Quite a strong breeze, because by the time I had got to my feet it was heading apace to the river. After a 100-yard dash and much stamping of feet, I finally trapped it under my foot and, like any good litter-conscious citizen, picked it up to throw it away properly. I turned round to walk back to my half-eaten sandwich and was a little annoyed to see mummy giggling hysterically. Apparently though, it was George who thought that daddy chasing litter across an empty field was the funniest thing since Iggle Piggle sneezed and fell over... mummy was actually laughing at George laughing at daddy.

The one shoe

I'm often puzzled by the single shoe. The ones you occasionally see discarded along the sides of busy A-roads or in a public bin in a city centre. I think it's the fact that there always seems to be just the one shoe and not a pair... it sort of makes me shudder that something sinister may have occurred.

One shoe? What happened to the other one – can someone fail to put on two shoes and forget where they left the other one? How long does it take someone to realise that one shoe is not adequate (unless you have one foot)? Does it suddenly dawn on them that they must head straight for the nearest shoe shop to remedy the situation?

Anyway, George has inherited my suspicion of the single shoe. We were reading The Smartest Giant in Town – a scruffy giant who gives his smart clothes away only to become scruffy again. At one point the giant gives his shoe to a family of mice whose house has burned down. But it wasn't the picture of the poor mice looking sadly at their burned-out shell of a home that made George say "oh-oh!". No, it was the picture on the next page where they had happily moved in to their new home – a single big shoe!

And it seems George may have a thing for big shoes – at his friend Noah's second birthday, he couldn't resist trying on Noah's dad's big trainers. Well, at least there were two of them and George and I remained happily unperturbed!