My chum Kaye has a Facebook friend who put out the question: “My child has come home with nits, any suggestions?” She’s a natural Mother Earth type, Kaye reported and my heart sank.
There were many, many Mother Earth types at the excellent festival I went to with my offspring a couple of Julys ago. It seems the English summer, though cruel to everyone else, was kind to us and we had three days of sunshine and grubby pleasure sitting in the grass, drinking beer in the afternoon – me that is, not my children – and wandering around the entertainment stalls and therapy tents and daft workshops, as well as listening to lots of live music. One afternoon, the main field was full of dancing adults and sheepish children embarrassed by their parents and a friend introduced me to an arty sort she thought I might get along with.
She was indeed interesting so we chatted and watched and supped from cans and eventually I couldn’t help but giggle and point out several children who were mucking around among the revellers dressed in oversized t-shirts, sporting long matted plaits and bare feet. I was amused because every so often, they stopped and gave their heads a good scratch.
“Hah! Just look at those kids going behind their ears like hound dogs! They are absolutely riddled!” I chortled.
And my new acquaintance laughed and agreed with me and we carried on. It was only later that I saw her giving them some money to go and get themselves something to eat.
So, I asked Kaye, what was the advice that came back on Facebook? All kinds, Kaye replied but ultimately the Mother Earth type had decided to “let nature take its course”.
I am still shuddering two days later.