Salt of the Earth

On this, the last week-day off of the half-term, we drove down the same old road and even missed the junction on the M27 due to roadworks and doubled back on ourselves and met up with Grandad. He will be 86 tomorrow but is spending the day in Bath (he'll get wrinkly fingers) meeting up with the few remaining cathedral choir members from his days in Kenya 45 years ago, as you do.
First he insisted on quizzing me about the rotation of the Earth and the angle of declination and stuff, because no boy should grow up without basic cosmology.
During this, it started to rain and just got worse so we hung on and hung on and decided to drive into Romsey instead of walking to the pub for lunch. As soon as we were on the road, it stopped but we went past the Mountbatten's country pad and found the Cromwell Arms pub.
The menu was a bit hoity for me but I chose the adult sized fish and chips and when it came, 3 extra members of staff crowded around me going Oooo, it's bigger than you, are you going to finish it, etc. I confidently predicted I would, because it was on the plate in front of me and you can't go back on your decision when you're 9. 
Having anointed the holy fish with ketchup, I discovered it was liberally bedazzled with rock salt which made it disgusting and I picked at it and left it all, putting my hoodie up and staring at the table in a sulk of epic proportions. Even the chips and mushy peas which I had said I was looking forward to remained untouched, as they were sullied like the fish, however much the adults went on about starving people in hot countries and me having to have kiddie fish fingers next time.
We paid and ran away. Nearby was a lovely rural area of river meadows and medieval fields where we wandered and found a watermill (watery) and a swingpark (wet) and I grumped and sulked out of earshot with hoodie extended. I stared into the abyss of the mill race, the turmoil of which matched my turbulent mind, a bridge over troubled waters no less. Back at Grandad's, we traded maths conundra and he taught me one that I'll use to befuddle my classmates and earn me some house points.
At home Jof made us pizzas with choose-your-own-topping and we battled about who was right and who had been eternally wronged. She then outranked me for film night and wanted some girlie drivel without any fighting guns, exploding aliens, nuclear orgies or anything.