April Fooled


I’m kind of on blog catch-up at the moment.  You know when you do a lot of things, you think a lot of things, you intend to write it all down, and then you forget your laptop charger when you head home for Easter?  Well that’s me.

So first – despite the lateness of this whole episode – I’d like to quickly fill you in on the happenings of April Fool’s Day.  Because April Fool’s Day is basically another word for Christmas in our household.  Everyone gets pre-Fool’s Day jitters and butterflies the night before, tricks are planned to the last, most intricate detail, everyone races downstairs in the morning to identify the clever newspaper and internet tricks, and the day is effectively spent in bouts of laughter.  And more importantly, as soon as one Fool’s Day is over, we all return to our lairs to begin planning the next.  In fact, the only difference between Christmas and April Fool’s Day is that we don’t get given presents on the latter; instead, we dodge tricks.

(BMW’s topical yearly April Fool, which appears in newspapers nationwide; gets more and more ingenious every year)

In the past, we’ve had people phoning home ‘sick’ from India, family members claiming pregnancy, a new, fictitious puppy (that one caused a bit of a scene; little brother got so excited that he almost flew home from his Gap Year to witness the little pup, only to discover that his overly excited and very public comments on Facebook were in fact making him into even more of a Fool).  Actually, now I think about it, we basically just tell lies on April Fool’s Day, and hope people will believe them.

In the ‘Olden Days’ (back in the time when we used to watch Power Rangers and eat Wotsits) it used to be subtle clock-changing, doors off hinges, salt in the sugar and whoopee cushion kind of stuff.  In fact, this year I went back to a vintage trick (I hadn’t left enough time to plan a cunning ‘modern’ one – big regret on my part) and did the whole ‘clingfilm over the loo’ plot.  It would have worked beautifully on Dad (he never registers that it’s ‘the big day’ until it’s too late…easy target, but nonetheless satisfying), but Mum had donned her detective’s hat, and foiled the plan too early.

It’s ok though, we got Dad with another corker (team effort involving jackdaws, nests, and stolen jewellery).

Sadly, no one ‘got’ me this year.  Except nature, that is.  On celebrating the wonderous success of our ‘Dad April Fool,’ I decided to bike down the field to look at the staggering new forest of bluebells (my happy place).  I saw the patch of swamp from afar, but gave myself an extra big push-off, assuming that I’d make it.  A cocky assumption when you’re riding a bike intended to be ridden by a 9 year old, which has the added feature of a flat tyre.  So just like in the movies, my bike got stuck right in the middle of the hell-hole.  It began to wobble.  I knew I was going down…

And so into the smelly, muddy swamp one half of me fell.  I walked home, squelching.


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