Little Niece N was emphatic – men should NOT be wearing skirts, and being three, and mad, could NOT understand my explanation that they were a marching band wearing kilts, nor my other explanation that they were just crazy men, and stupid, and were trying to be funny. Little Niece N had decided this parade was not going to work for her. Then they banged some huge drums and one of the worst, and therefore funniest parades I have ever been to, kicked off.
This niece, the bigger of my two, promptly covered her ears and declared that she was scared, even though Little Star, a full year and a half younger, practically walked off the path to join the kilted gang. For once, we were all together, me, Lilsister, Middlebro and the Baker (their house being a meeting point as the parade began there), Babybro and Sisinlaw and Firstbrother and Preggers. And naturally the children, whom we used as an excuse to visit the parade.
The only thing Little Niece N liked was St Patrick who happened to be walking on stilts, I don’t know why, he was awful. He began a slagging match with Lilsister when we stopped him in his tracks to tell him it was her birthday. Then the Baker screamed at a rather young tractor driver that I was single, and he nearly crashed. Luckily the firemen were attractive, but again about 15 years younger than me. When a skip company drove by on a truck with – yes!- an actual skip on the back, we knew it was the best birthday Lilsister had ever had, and that Little Niece N had been right all along. A catering company van scooted by with an actual baby dangling dangerously out of an open window, and we all began to fight about whether to eat at the chipper or the pub.