Meccano! Or, Raining on the Queens' parade

I have had a Meccano police car in the tall cupboard in my bedroom for ages but never went near it. But yesterday at Grandads a Meccano racing car was waiting for me so this morning I tackled them both. The police car was OK. The racing car was extremely fiddly and you have to use nuts and bolts and spanners and Allen keys and magically hold it all together while you screw it up.

Thus I found the easiest way was to sit there while Bud did it for me. It's a step change up from lego. I also got a miniature golf buggy with 6 minute golf sticks. I used some ball-bearings and they worked.
The golf buggy was given to me by Gordon. He is a golfing friend of Grandads and was a head teacher in his previous life. He bought me the vehicle and wrote me the following letter here transcribed exactly - when I was 4 months old.

23rd April 2006
Now then lad,
                  You have no idea who I am but I know your Grampa. Yes, I know. Dreadful isn't it. But press on.

He tells me you are ignorant of Shakespeare, (shahhkespoke, Shakenspore) or however he wanted his name to be. This, I said ,was due to the failing education system of the country which would even accept the punctuation of this sentence. (A subtle attempt at humour, showing that --- ---if I have to explain it what has the world come to.) However, in an attempt to rectify the matter I thought long and hard and came up with the idea that you were probably the athletic type  rather than  the intellectual at this early stage of your life, more tactile than cerebral and in order to prevent you being side-tracked into some inferior branch of sport like tennis, or, God forbid, soccer which is too near you for comfort, you needed to be lead into the paths of righteousness as soon as possible. I was then given this vision of a toy with golfers on the heights, or this toy with a vision of golfers on the heights I'm not sure which, which is the path you should follow.  The vision took pace in Aldis. Not the road to Damascus I do so agree, but very near the Yeovil holey of holes, and a vision of some sort or other. And not the sort of vision I'm used to. Nor do I want again, coming to that. This you now see before you. Do not copy your Grampa. He plays in left-handed trousers willed to him by his father, your great Grampa. This ,since he is right-handed, causes problems in his game, the body going one way and the trousers another. Beware of your father. He is probably dieing (sic) (aha) to get his hands on the toy. If he wants to play with it make sure he treats it kindly. No M1 catastrophic accidents. It is yours. Look closely. Observe the skill and dexterity of the figures. Mark, learn and inwardly digest all the necessary processes, and hit the ball for bloody miles.

Gordon

I fear there is no hope for me.

In the afternoon we met Erin and Elizabeth at the Rose in June Pub. It's a fair old walk but we get to balance on the wall by Kingston Prison. The pub was closed for a ticket-only private function.

This was annoying as it was 2 fair old walks from there to get to the Royal Artillery, which was at least open, if extremely busy with street party and everything. Amongst the many attendees I knew: Ginger Lenny, Gemmas' Charlie, Rosie Chloe, and many more.

The barbecue in which we have played hide'n'seek so often was actually functioning: the street was closed off with police cones and 2 games of football were going on. We stayed in the garden and played in the junior marquee which threatened to blow away in the severe winds.

After a hot dog and chips (which ElizabethsMum had to wait half an hour for) we decamped to Erins' house where we played Displays Of No Apparent Purpose and drew flags. The strong winds blew heavy rain clouds all over us. Bedtime was late for everyone.