Mischief Makers

WANTED!

We crouched behind the hedge in a ditch quietly, barely breathing.

My dad peered over the top carefully, and waited for the pot-bellied man to line up his drive from the tee. All around was silent as the man prepared to take his shot.

He eased his golf club back gently, and just as he brought the club swinging down on the little white ball, my dad whistled. Not just a little 'peep' but an almighty great shrieking, eardrum-piercing sound that scared the life out of the golf man. He grazed the top of the little white ball with his club, and it plopped off the tee, rolling forwards a couple of inches. The man and his golfing buddy looked around angrily to see what and who had caused him to fluff this important shot.

Dad and I tried desperately to stifle our laughter as we quickly ducked down into our hiding place. The men muttered and grumbled, and the man took his shot again. When they moved on, we clambered out of the ditch and had a bloody good laugh out loud.

My dad has always been full of mischief, so it's inevitable that one of his children should inherit his devilment.

Last week, we visited Cambridge. I'd never been before. What a stunning place - beautiful buildings, and such a lovely feel to the place. My sister-in-law grew up there, so she took us to all the lovely spots and we had a great time. I kept going on about the fabulous architecture, so my sister-in-law took us into a church where you could climb to the top of the tower to get a great 360 view of the city.

We spiralled up the 4 million steps and were rewarded with a stunning view at the top. On one side, you could look right down on Cambridge's bustling market. Hoards of tiny people browsing the stalls. My two kids and 2 of their cousins were peering down, observing the scene below.

'Why don't you shout some random names out,' I suggested. 'See if you can get anyone to look up?'

They thought this was a great idea.

'STEVE!' yelled my 9 year old, 'STEVE!.....ALAN!......ALAN!'

'LUCY!' yelled my 7 year old, 'LUCY!.....GRANDMA BETTY!'

I have absolutely no idea who Grandma Betty is or where the hell she dreamed up that name, but we all had a damned good laugh trying to make people look up. Sadly no-one did.

I got back to the bottom of the stairs first and noticed that there were 2 policemen standing at the doors of the church. When my 7 year old got to the bottom I pointed the policemen out, then quickly told her to hide around the corner. I told her that they were looking for a little girl in a spotty coat that had been yelling 'Grandma Betty' from the top of the tower. She hid for ages, convinced she was going to be arrested.
When the police moved on, she emerged from her hiding place and asked if they really were looking for her. I kidded her for a little while longer, then owned up that it was just a trick.

She didn't look too convinced, and despite my reassurances that I'd made it all up, she spent the rest of the afternoon ducking and diving around Cambridge like a little artful dodger. She even took her spotty coat off, just to be sure....

What a wicked mother she has. And its all your fault, dad!