In a panic, we arrived at Her Majesty's dockyard late. Bobert's party was at Action Stations which is a substantial building which has been converted to provide hands-on activities for busy boys, ideal for the ten or so of us.
Us PuddleBoys and some of their schoolfriends got to go on the climbing walls and the Harrier jump-jet simulator, we made bottle rockets and got painted faces. We had to name our rockets and they were all called Poo or Ploppy-poopants or similar. Mine came second. Every now and then the Navy cadets did a fire drill and we spent hours in there.In LaserQuest all our Player Names were Ploppy-poopants or variations thereupon.
During the post-party party, we were playing sort-of football and birthday boy Bob (7) asked his Mum if he could say "That was a F***ing goal".
Consensus amongst the giggling adults was that no, he couldn't say that but it was nice he asked. Either I am a vocabulary virgin and this construction is not in my lexicon, or I am quieter about it.
On the way home we practised paratrooper bounce'n'roll landings in the park.
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