In the park…
Alice marches up to a friendly-faced, but hassled-looking lady with a floaty-hippie child who is yipping on a slide (actually sitting on the slide and going “Yip! Yip! Yip!”)
Alice: “I’m 3 and my best friend’s Jonah and I had chicken pox and went camping and my Nana went camping and we went to a festival and saw my Daddy’s band and my Daddy rocking out on guitar and I like festivals and my cousins didn’t come with us…”
Unknown Mother [slightly perplexed]: Oh, that’s lovely…
“…yes and my Granny and Uncle has a dog called Rufus and he runs around and goes WOOF WOOF WOOF and I like pasta and pizza and I live over there…” [points in completely the wrong direction]
[Enter me, stage right. Unknown Mother and I share an exasperated glance]
“AND THAT’S MY DADDY and he does music and goes to schools and teaches music and nobody does any practice and he plays guitar and drums and does dubstep do you know what dubstep is?”
[Now thoroughly-bewildered Mother]: No, not really…
“It goes WUB WUB WUB WUB WUB”
[Mother, now clearly had enough]: That’s very nice… FREYA! We need to go home now (Freya: “Nooooo!”). Yes, darling we need to go (“But I don’t want to”), no, we really should…
[Alice now hitting her stride, not caring that she’s lost her audience, and just shouting at the world in general]: “…and my Mummy works in an office and my Daddy and my Mummy don’t eat chocolate because they’re TOO FAT and I quite like Toy Story but I don’t really, ‘cos it’s too scary…”
Me [scooping her up]: Do you really need to tell everything to everyone?
“Yes I do. I’m tired… [suddenly points] That lady is TOO BIG FOR THE SWING!”
[Affronted overweight black lady stops swinging at the sound of my daughter’s yelping. I mouth “I’m so sorry…” like a Guardian reader]
Me [thoroughly ashamed and horrifically embarrassed]: ALICE! Come on, child. I can never set foot in this playground again.
[Loudly, so everyone can hear]: “Going home! Need a wee!”