Holidays With Small People

The prospect of going away with a baby is daunting one for new parents. Even for old parents, like me. There are all the outfits, several for each day as stuff get soiled by food or worse. Then there are all the clothes for the baby.

Babies come with so much equipment that a trip to the Lakes is akin to a Space Shuttle launch. There are millions of things to remember as you need to be prepared for every possibility: being held hostage on a train for days, a nuclear attack or a sudden conversion to Judaism.

"Did you bring the nuclear deflector shields, darling?"

"Of course."

"What if he suddenly converts to Judaism?"

"I brought a kippah."

"Just the one?"

There was also a fear of what we would find when we got there. We were going to the Lake District to stay with my mate Mike, a thoroughly unreliable wastrel and one of the least sensible people I know.

Uncle Mike is known to his friends' children as Druncle Mike, as they never see him sober. Incidents have a habit of occurring around him. He may climb a tree, strip naked, get arrested or attempt a world record at any moment.

One night, when talking absolute shit in a pub, he said to me, haughtily: "I can't decide if I'm a scientist or a philosopher."

"You're neither," I replied. "You're a gaudy dilettante."

And he is. He's a retired TV producer, turned African adventurer/microlight pilot, turned interior designer, whose decorative style can best be described as Boy Georgian.

Mike was to pick us up in Preston. Would he be sober enough to drive? Would he be on time for the first time in his life? Would he remember? Because finding ourselves in a strange town miles from home with a baby, unable to speak the language, is the kind of nightmare that stops new parents leaving the house. Luckily, we had our nuclear deflector shields and a survival pack big enough to take him to his late teens.

I needn't have feared. Mike, and his young girlfriend Robyn, were there waiting for us. The only remotely unusual thing we had to do en route to Coniston was stop to pay cash to a man who had just bought a Russian submarine. Whatever.

Mike and Robyn proved to be perfect hosts and even had a travel cot ready for our little lad to sleep in.  Kit fell hard for Robyn. As soon as her spied her soft blonde hair, he perked up, winked and gave her his 'Get your coat, love,' eyes.

First off we went to a pub to watch the Grand National. We tried to get Kit to dribble on the racecard to pick a winner but he wasn't having it. Clearly he didn’t want to look sloppy in front of Robyn.

Kit was strangely drawn to beer too, but after two more pubs he alerted us to his three-pub limit. Now he tells us. 

Spud and I haven't been out much since Kit arrived so having few drinks whilst continuing with the sleep deprivation schizzle had a debilitating effect.

The next night, having eaten Mike's Beast Feast Barbeque (beef, lamb and venison) we were unable to accept his request to join him for the local pub quiz.

"Pub quiz? I'm from London, Mike. You know, the city with all the… stuff," I bluffed, unwilling to admit I craved an early night more than a general knowledge triumph over farmers.

Mike was desperate to go and to win. He had never won and new blood could help him beat the two teams that always shared the prize. Mike always came second. When he beat Ted's team, Bob's team won. When he beat Bob's team, Ted's team won.

In the morning he reported he had beaten Bob's team and Ted's team.

"Ace! You won, then?"

"No, I came second."

"Who to?"

"Sophie Ellis Bextor's team."

"Oh."

You couldn't make it up. Indeed, why would you?

Mike and Robyn showed us the joys of the Lakes, the lovely walks, scenery, waterfalls, brooks and becks. It really is the most beautiful place in Britain, something I never tire of telling people from Yorkshire.

One morning Mike brought in a newborn lamb, fresh in the world that morning. Kit was alarmed to find it wasn't a new toy and freaked when he it baaed at him. Yet later at the zoo, he was nonchalant when a giraffe leaned down to see if he had any dinner for him, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

It's easy not to go anywhere and stay in your comfort zone but we were glad we left it to go to the Lakes, even if afterwards we needed a holiday we weren't going to get. Having the baby in our room meant no one gets a good night's sleep. Drinking boozes and eating mostly meat also has a price.

But we learned we could go away. That Kit had a three-pub limit, likes blondes and thinks lambs are tossers.