Yesterday, something rare happened.
Blue skies and a dazzling sun greeted the UK, which naturally got me restless.
Instead of pounding the keyboard and glancing out of my office window, wondering what could have been…
I had an idea.
One that Lady Laura and I had been sitting on since an anti-climactic visit to a small zoo (long story short: Laura said there would be wolves… but what she actually saw on the brochure was an arctic fox!):
Go to the local farm.
Master Liam’s now at an age where he can recall every animal in “Old MacDonald’s Had a Farm,” so it was only right we took the wee lad to see some of his favourite animals up close and personal.
Especially his beloved sheep.
So we chugged down our coffees, loaded up the kids, and began the short 5-mile drive.
And you know what?
All was well.
The roads were clear.
Other motorists behaved themselves for once.
Everything was going to plan, until — with only a couple of miles to go — Laura was suddenly struck with a thought, which can only be described as a psychic event.
“I’m going to call them,” she announced.
“Why?”
“Just to make sure they’re open.”
“Laura, it’s Monday. They’ll be open,” I tutted, stopping to let an elderly couple cross the road who graciously waved a shaky hand.
Laura being Laura, she defied me and called anyway.
Which went straight to voicemail.
I quietly conceded that, yeah… it was a little suspicious.
“They’re probably just busy.” I shrugged.
Laura hummed and began pounding away at her phone screen.
“What are you doing now?”
“Checking their websi—” she paused.
“I don’t like the sound of that. What is it?”
“They’re shut on Mondays.”
“What?!” I gasped, almost careening into a florist. “It’s England — we don’t have days off.”
I pulled over and snatched the phone from her hand, and true to her word, there it was staring at me in size 18 Arial font:
Monday: CLOSED
Tuesday-Sunday: 9:30AM—4:30PM
We both slumped into our car seats and fell silent as the engine hummed indecisively. We were now less than a mile from the farm. To make matters worse, we had even dressed the boys in matching farm tops.
What should have been a memorable day was quickly spiralling into a “baa’d” one.
(Sorry, couldn’t help myself.)
“What do we do then?” I turned to Laura.
A few minutes of googling later, we found our answer:
The local stables.
Ah, crisis averted!
… Or so we thought.
As I was about to pull back onto the busy high street, the blue skies were soon replaced by ashen clouds and a deluge of rain that almost felt biblical.
I chuckled and shook my head. “Don’t suppose you foresaw that?”
“My grandmother might be a psychic, but I never claimed to be one.”
“I’m starting to think you’re a witch.”
“Piss off, Daniel,” she scorned, “before I shove my broomstick somewhere the sun will never shine.”
“Yes, maa’m!”
A few wrong turns later, we landed at a pastry shop where Liam got to devour a freshly baked chocolate croissant.
While he didn’t manage to see his favourite animals yesterday, we did our best to lift his spirit in other ways.
(Even if it might’ve caused nutritionists up and down the country to shudder.)
In any case, today is a new day, and we’re giving the local farm another shot.
Wish us luck.
DJJW
P.S. If somehow I regaled you with this tale, then you’ll find many more over at my Storehouse. Epic fantasy… supernatural thrillers… audiobooks… paperbacks… digitally signed ebooks… lore books… digital art… you can find it all here: