The Chronicles of Golden Bear
Reprise
Following a frankly exhausting year at Broadstone Hall Primary School (nursery section), I was looking forward to putting my (hind) paws up for the summer break. As I counted down the days, one of my last missions was to return to the home of young Daisy Allen, now four years of age, in July 2015. Keen readers will recall my beer-soaked, curry-fuelled doll-a-thon back in December of the year before. After several months of self-imposed sobriety, I was a little worried that this latest visit might drive me back to the drink...
Wednesday 8th July
My first task was be pressed onto the slide as Daisy whizzed down, posing for the camera. I generally prefer to have better access to fresh air, and less in the way of friction, but beggars can't be choosers.
Upon arrival at Denby Lane, there was the obligatory close-up pose for the camera, whilst nestled in one of Daisy's blankets. It was rather comfortable actually...
...although it was part of being taken into the ball pool and somewhat manhandled (or maybe bearhandled) by Daisy. That's her prerogative, I suppose. Gregory looked on, just chilling. He seems more like my kind of guy.
Unfortunately, though, the children cleared off and left me in the ball pool. Bears can't swim in ball pools and so this was not great fun, asI scrambled around for breath amongst the blue and pink plastic death traps. Eventually, I was rescued (clearly, otherwise I wouldn't be telling this story) and I made sure I registered my protest (there is an official school website where you can submit accusations of abuse, both physical and mental - this, ultimately, was a bit of both).
Earlier in the day, we watched Daisy's favourite film (of the time - they never stay the same), Charlie and the Chocolate factory before visiting Daisy's new teacher, Mrs Mitchel.
I wouldn't quite say that I had pride of place in Daisy's bed. I was battling for position with four other staple toys (Hello Kitty, Bunny, Panda and Penguin - clearly a downward trend in the imagination underlying the naming). I was likely to rank, at best, equal third, but perhaps even that was optimistic. But that's fair enough: I had to earn the trust of my, well, not owner. I suppose landlady is closest.
Thursday 9th July
I don't recall too much from the Thursday, not helped by (a) the lack of photos taken (it can wear thin, I understand that) and (b) my personal handwritten records being with the laminators. I may revisit this once I get them back.
As I now write this particular sentence with the benefit of anticipated hindsight, we took Daisy for a swimming lesson in the morning (pictured below) before meeting with Daisy's friends in the park.
This photo was taken before the swimming lesson and is remarkable as Daisy is dressed before 8am.
Friday 10th July
Friday is at least captured once, at breakfast time, when I enjoyed some hot, buttered pikelet (like a flat crumpet, basically), as prepared by Daisy's daddy first thing. But that's pretty much all I can report. I was beginning to suspect that Daisy's family had not planned quite so much this time round as the novelty had perhaps worn off. If so, that is a little disappointing.
Mid-morning, we met with Daisy's Aunty Suze at a café, whilst later next door (but one) neighbour Hannah came round for some trampolining action.
Saturday 11th July
The weekend was a little more exciting, although only after I had a lie-in whilst Daisy went for an early dance lesson. Here is Daisy in her dancing gear after the lesson.
Later, Daisy and her daddy took me across to Boothstown, home of her Nana Sue and Aunty Katie (although not in the same house). Naturally, Daisy wanted to show me off.
Oh, how embarrassing. I was trying some dance moves with a young lady, who, for reasons which escape me right now, does not appear to be wearing an awful lot. I do remember that she was twisting me round and round, making me a little dizzy, and that can be the only explanation for the fact that I am lying face down on the wooden floor of the conservatory.
I put it down to the spinning and also perhaps a lack of food. I was feeling nauseous and desperate for something to eat, so I was happy to pinch some of Nana Sue's savoury nut nibbles. They tasted a little funny, but that was probably just an unusual mixture of spices and herbs, I'd expect. Why they were on the floor next to a cushion, I don't know.
What I later realised was that Daisy was having her first sleepover. In other words, I was staying here for the night. I wished they'd have told me in advance as I had not packed anything. All I had on my person was that unassuming neck ribbon which I wear for sentimental reasons. Daisy's daddy had now left, and with him my only reliable mode of transport, so I accepted the inevitable and sat back to watch some tablet-based TV with the girls.
It was all thirsty work of course, but my sobriety required me to imbibe only soft drinks. They just don't taste the same, do they?
Sunday 12th July
I'm used to sleeping in many different beds, but Daisy didn't really adapt that well (or else she cannily exploited the situation) and her lack of ability to settle did not help me get my beauty sleep, so I was less than amused with the activities the next morning, when Daisy's family came to pick her up, centring on dancing and music (perhaps musical statues, I would guess - sometimes trauma has the effect of dulling the memory).
I then joined in with some front garden activity, although Daisy clasped me tightly so I did not have the opportunity to show off my legendary ball skills. For the sake of the nearby windows, it was perhaps for the best.
Having been picked up, we were off to our next social engagement, which was the second (of two) wedding anniversary parties for Rick and Suze, this time with kids invited (Daisy's mum and dad had previously attended an evening bash, which was party number one). Away from the madding crowds, we sought the quiet confines of the art room, where Daisy revelled in the colouring utensils available. I sat on the paper plane book, for no reason whatsoever.
All the kids were summoned for a game of bash the pinata, of which I stayed well clear. I've been hurt before in the stampede for sugar-based snacks that often ensues.
It was pretty stressful to watch, though; particularly when Daisy was struggling to get any sweets. The twins were soon to her rescue, but my nerves could not be reset. I'm ashamed to say that I then lapsed, supping some champagne (well, I think it was champagne; to my keen palate, it tasted rather more like prosecco). I just allowed myself the one glass, though. The Golden Bear of yesteryear (in fact, the year before) would have not stopped there and, well, we all know what can happen with too many of these bad boys.
The weather stayed fair for the rest of the afternoon and I was afforded the rare treat of a barbecue, cooked by Daisy's daddy, for our evening meal (or 'tea' as they like to call it). If only Daisy had let me go and I could have tucked in to the delicious sausage and halloumi cheese.
Monday 13th July
And on the Monday, I was taken back to the nursery. It was an understated affair; so understated that no records exist of it happening, but I did indeed make it back, back to my trusty box, with its typewriter and tobacco stash. I have to say, it's been a pleasure. (That's literally true, I am legally obliged to state that.) I may never see you again (although I suppose I could survive until Gregory likely attendance at this nursery - what is that in bear years?) and so I hope you enjoyed our briefest of times together via the medium of words.
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