Posted by: Sam Olsen | December 16, 2011

The Chronicles of Larry 15: beer lip

Sometimes it’s easy to be homesick. There’s so much to miss at home: there’s no school for a start, and no pollution, and no mercury-meat turning Them even more mad.

That said, I have no intention of coming home until They can afford a swimming pool at the bottom of the stairs like I have here. So looks like we’ll never move back to Blighty. 

But it’s not like we’re cut off completely. Some piteous people endure the long flight out to see us.

My future drumming partner

One of these is Uncle Dom. He decides to stop over after some no doubt God-awful trip to Australia and New Zealand, where he was forced to go wine tasting and sit on the beach.

 I’m especially pleased to see Dom as he’s a drummer. One day we’re going to play together. I may leave him to the vodka though. Dad celebrates his arrival by taking a day off. (Don’t ask what Mum said when she hears this. Not repeatable.)

But what to do with our guest… Two visits to Ocean Park adventure world will send me over the edge – there’s only so much non-dancing panda a boy can take. So we all go to Stanley town in the south of the island, ready for an afternoon of pootling, bird watching and drink. (Again, don’t tell Mum.)

Even though it’s December the sun’s shining and we all swelter in our ill-advised jumpers. We first of all head along the coastal path to a beautiful old temple, stopping along the way to watch the black kites poaching fish from the sea. The trees are full of sparrows and wag-tail like birds, chattering and hopping between the twigs. A very pleasant time indeed.

Soon the ‘adults’ get bored, especially after the debacle of the butterfly garden. (Probably best not to go into details. But there aren’t many live butterflies there now.)

So we end up at a restaurant. I’m sitting in my chair enjoying my afternoon milk whilst the others have theirs, or beer as they call it. All is going well until Dad decides to take me for a post-drink walk along the sea front. This is the best idea since Col Gaddafi thought “Hey, that murderous crowd will never find me in this short, exposed, very obvious hole”.

So I’m showing off my new running skills, bulldozing through groups of the elderly and playing hide and seek with the kids coming home from school. Dad is trying to keep up, with the odd whistful glance back to the restaurant where Dom is certainly enjoying himself.

All is going well, right up to the moment I trip. I’m going so fast I don’t even have time to put my hands out. I fly through the air like a small, tutu-less ballerina. I land like a sack of waterlogged turnips. My top lip parts company with part of its skin. Man, that smarts.

Dad, despite being only two feet away, is looking at the (feathered) birds again. But he soon picks me up. After a while. I am really telling him about it as he tries to clean me up. One small problem though. He thinks the blood is coming out of my nose so scrubs at it hard with his hankie. Except it’s not. My top lip hurts to this day. Thanks.

On the way home, the conversation is all about what to tell Mum. Now that’s a conversation even I wouldn’t want to have. I’m keeping quiet. Except for Dad’s beer bottle-top I’ve lodged in my pocket ready for Mum to accidentally find. That will be fun, I tell you.


  1. honored to be a part of larry’s chronicles! was great to see you all! look forward to the next time! hope larry’s recovered from his trip?!

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