This week, I have been mostly prizing Scaryduck Junior away from his Playstation and teaching him to ride his bike. And what progress he has made - going from "Aaaaaargh!!! Don't let go!" to semi-confident trail-blazer in less than half an hour. It was all done in the accepted manner as laid down in the Eddy Merckx Big Book of Bike Riding* - sit the tyke at the top of a hill and push him over the edge, leaving him to face any hazards on the way down. My God, it worked for me, and it was going to work for him, too.
Down, down, down the grassy sward he raced, legs pumping at the pedals, half-naked sunbathers suitably impressed at the energy of his rugged tutor. There was no stopping the lad as he thundered onward - the wind in his hair, the cries of joy, it was utterly beautiful. If only Henry VIII hadn't built a bastard great castle in the way, then.
It was the most impressive crash, and I swore to his mother that it was only a flesh wound. The half-naked sunbathers were even more impressed at the rugged charm and l33t first aid skills of his tutor, and the castle was hardly damaged at all. His first words when he came to were: "If only you had the video camera, dad - we'd be rich!" Once again my stab at "You've Been Framed" fame thwarted by a lack of forward planning.
I'll be teaching him about the brakes next week. One step at a time.
* May contain traces of bullshit and pictures of muscly Belgians on bicycles.
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