Wednesday 4th April. Feral is Fun.

I, for one, don’t know why everyone is complaining about the Easter Holidays.

They’re totally epic!

Admittedly my mother takes care of the offspring while I’m at the ‘Day-Job’ slaving over a hot keyboard, so in all honesty, my involvement in entertaining the little buggers is pretty minimal, but that was part of my devious strategy and you can’t blame a girl for thinking ahead can you?

As I may have mentioned before, we live in a miniscule little village which can be found, a couple of miles past the middle of nowhere.

The beneficial nature of our location allows us, collectively, as a family, to subscribe to the ‘Feral-Is-Fun’ school of thought, vis-a-vis the subject of amusing  ‘little people’ when the (legally obliged ‘to-do-somefink-wiv-em-for-God’s-sake’) educational establishments, lock their doors and point-blank refuse to do it no more.

My children’s and my interaction, thus far this week, has mainly been ‘text-message’ based.

I know they still inhabit the same dwelling as me because the toilet’s still being used and not flushed.

The tell-tale trail of crumbs and Cocoa Pops are still Hansel & Gretel-ing it up the stairs toward the bedrooms and food, that I know I placed in the cupboard, continues to disappear.

I just don’t see them.

Oh happy day!

Other villagers report seeing them by the brook, at the local shop or on the swings at the playing field and, if my sources are to believed, there is much laughter floating across the warm springtime sky, as the different gaggles of children carelessly cascade from adventure to adventure.

Camps are being built, rope swings constructed and fish netted.

The only time I can be sure that I will be able to catch a fleeting glimpse of the physical presence of either of my little treasures is when I hear the ice-cream van in the distance and, that may sound like a total yummy-tastrophe but, in my defence, I was raised as a child of the 70’s when feral kids were the only kind you could get.

I recall the best kind of holidays being the kind where you don’t see, don’t hear from and are pretty much able to forget entirely that you are related to, your parents.

As an adult I can confirm that, back in the glorious 70’s, the feeling was completely mutual.

Feral is the only way to fly.