stayers

I attend The Boy's sports day. He is to race the three-legged race (they won, with his larger sidekick practically carrying him over the line - messy, but victorious) and the bean-bag race (a creditable finish somewhere in the middle).

At some distance from us, Emma spies the egg-and-spoon racers lining up.

And they are off.

They totter and teeter and wibble and wobble towards us.

Absent-mindedly, I gaze around, as many about me squeal and applaud in support.

Emma: Those eggs don't look even.

Shane: There'll be fallers.

Emma: No. I mean the actual eggs. They're not egg-shaped.

Intrigued, I look, and focus in, and all becomes clear.

Shane: That's because they're not eggs.

The racers get ever nearer.

Emma: They're potatos.

Shane: Potatos, they are. And the girl in yellow seems to be suffering from a particularly knobbly potato.

Emma: Stewards enquiry?

Shane: (momentary ponder) Not at all. This is education. It's all about how they deal with the uneven playing field.

Emma: (sighs) Profound.

Shane: Thanks.

And I am gone - remembering walking up Snowdon with my favourite spoon.

A potato bobbles towards my feet, a child in green feverishly following it, snatching it back and pressing on for the line.

My revery is mashed.