Box

Alex and I had our hair cut.

Perhaps mindful of the evening’s muddy bike ride that I’d promised him (and very muddy it was too), the little man seemed uninterested in fielding questions doled out by his young hairdresser - Ellen. I followed their exchange from across the room, hearing his thoughts loud and clear.

Ellen: So, still in your uniform eh – have y’ been to school today?
Alex: Yeah (‘Oh-, you’re going to talk to me aren’t you’)
Ellen: Was it good?
Alex: (Blinking) Mm (‘Och, don’t get hair in my eyes’)
Ellen: What’s your favourite subject?
Alex: Er, dunno (‘I’m six – we don’t yet speak in terms of ‘subjects’’)
Ellen: D’ y’ like art?
Alex: Yeah (‘I’m six’)
Ellen: Yeah – I used to like art.
Alex: Mm (‘Thank you for sharing’)
Ellen: What sort of things d’ y’ think y’ might do this weekend?
Alex: I’m going to London. I’m going to walk in a cloud in a box.
Ellen: Oh (pause). And how are y’ gonna manage that?
Alex: It’s in an art gallery.
Ellen: (through a mirror, frowns a querisome frown at Shane - checking authenticity)
Shane: (nods)
Ellen: (to Alex) Can I come?
Alex: No.

Truth was, we’d already bought the train tickets. Had we not, well, then I'm sure she'd have been welcome.