Upstaged

You know, kids have the ability to make you feel a lot of things - angry, happy, sad, proud, guilty... or just totally stoopid. I am an intelligent woman, I did my time at school, as I endlessly remind the small people when they reckon they know it all. Then, just as you least expect it the little buggers totally upstage you, usually in front of strangers, often numbering ten or more, and prove that they do indeed know it all.

We spent this bank holiday weekend exploring the 'Danube Bend' out to the North of Budapest: lots of lovely countryside, castles, cathedrals and holey roads. No, that's not a typo, there was nothing religious about this tarmac, although I doubt it has been maintained since the Crusades. I love to complain about the roads up here in the Buda hills - we have one on the way back from town which looks like it is gradually wrinkling down the hill and rattles small pieces off the soviet buses as they bomb down it; we have to remind my Dad to clench his teeth so he won't lose his dentures. You'd think the main road in a major tourist spot would be pretty well looked after. But you'd be wrong. The main road up along the Danube is so full of potholes the only way to avoid them all would be to constantly swerve across the road as if you were following a large snake, who was very late home for dinner and didn't want to upset the missus. I was especially sensitive about it because Nobby's back started to play up as we left civilisation and the ol' Sharan tends to roll when she goes round bends and bounce when she encounters so much as pebble in the road. Poor Nobby.

Still, at least there was a fabulous hotel waiting for us with lovely warm spa pools which the kids dragged us into before we'd even unpacked. These are the same kids who moan and groan every Wednesday before their swimming lesson, but plop them in a jaunty shaped pool with water jets, fountains and a 'rapid river' and they are happy as Larry. In fact you won't be able to drag them out until even their noses have started to resemble prunes. Nobby and me had had it after an hour but Poppet and Pickle stayed in for another two, diving for bits of plastic, splashing old ladies and generally being a nuisance, so we hit the poolside bar. It was 5pm. See, that's what they mean by 'drive you to drink'.

Next day we explored some ruins and joined in some of the medieval activities that were laid on for the holiday weekend. Poppet made a corn dolly and Pickle had a go at archery. Then Poppet made a flower out of dried grasses and Pickle threw daggers at a tree stump. They both started making candle by hand, until they realised the dipping-and-waiting was going to take more than their customary attention span of 5 minutes so Mummy took over while they tried their hand at stonemasonry. Yes, this place had it all. One lady enjoyed trying out her English on us and was showing Pickle some ancient games like cup-and-ball and spinning tops. But right next door was a mock jousting machine-thingy where you strapped on a shield and attacked it with a sword - much more his cup of tea. Poor lady didn't stand much of a chance unless she fancied a duel.

At the top of the hill was an all-weather Bobsled run, boasting 750m of track. We just couldn't resist. We have a local one near to our house but this one had bigger and better sleds, with back rest and seatbelts because they go so fast. As long as you don't get stuck behind the Saga day-trippers of course. No offence but I should have realised when 'Doris' and 'Derek' ahead of us in the queue decided they would ride tandem that they were not going to be flying round the corners on two wheels like Poppet and me planned to. Oh no. Derek was gripping that brake so hard I could see the white knuckles from my own sled, creeping along behind him. Well, never mind. It looked like the most fun Doris had seen in a while so all power to them.

On Sunday we visited the hugest cathedral I have ever seen, in Esztergom. Ostensibly the scene of Rose's first 'proper' kiss (read 'snog') . It's quite a setting. I really can't remember mine (she lied) but it was nowhere near as nice a location. We jumped on a Petit Train for a scenic tour, not really sure what to expect as the driver only gave us a picture postcard each as tickets and he somehow convinced himself that since I didn't speak Hungarian I must be fluent in German so he nattered on about 'drei-hundert forints die kinderer' while I quietly switched my face to screensaver.

But here's something we didn't expect - there is a bridge across the Danube in Esztergom which the little train trundled happily across after a brief jaunt past some pastel pink cottages and an almighty building site, and lo and behold, we were in Slovakia. Then he pulled up beside an ice cream shop and invited us all to get off and go get an ice cream. Of course the kids were already picking flavours while I hesitated and made a quick check in the guide book - Slovakia already switched to the Euro. We only had Hungarian forints. This was going to be one very quick conversation. Mercifully they were quite happy to take whatever money we had. I don't mean that nastily though, quite the opposite. How much would you pay for a double scoop of ice cream in a wafer cone in a popular tourist spot in the UK? £2? £2.50? They wanted the equivalent of 30p. And when I gave them 7p too much they made me wait for change. Incredible.

So I should point out that all weekend Her Royal Highness Queen Poppet was twittering on about 'holiday presents'. She picked hers out when we stopped for lunch on the way up on Friday. I advised her to shop around a bit, given that the item in her affections was a polished piece of rock on a leather shoe-lace and the one next to it had just fallen off in her hand. (Cue swift exit from tacky, tourist-trap.) And the fact that we hadn't even got there yet so there was no guarantee that she was going to be well behaved and actually earn a gift. That won me a very puzzled look. Earn a gift? Has Mummy gone mad? Surely we just go on and on and on about it and wear her down until she chucks the wallet at us and sighs 'take what you want' while Daddy slowly hits his head against a wall...?

So we left it until the very last minute, hoping the idea would miraculously evaporate from her head and silently seething for introducing the stupid practice in the first place. It didn't, of course, and naturally it was my stupid idea several holidays ago before I realised these brats have memories like elephants. And we ended up at a little souvenir market in the car park by the cathedral. Poppet picked out a necklace with an enormous sparkly butterfly on it. Then Pickle all of a sudden became very excited about a wooden trinket box on the neighbouring stall. There were loads of them, all different sizes, lacquered in different colours and questionably carved in abstract patterns. I picked one up and immediately put it down again as a bit of a waste of time and money. But he wouldn't give it up.

'My friend's got one of these! I've wanted one for ages! Can I have a box Mummy?' So I took the one he was shoving at me and tried to open it. Nothing. The lid wouldn't budge.
'I'm not sure,' says I, grabbing another one and trying the lid. That one wouldn't budge either. There was no keyhole and the stall holder was just leaning against the table wearing an enigmatic smile when I turned my confused face towards her.

Then little hands grabbed the box from me and a little voice piped up with,
'Oh, Mummy. Don't you know? It's a magic box.'
And the little know-all proceeded to move the sliding panels, find the secret key, uncover the hidden keyhole and open the darned box, while I stood there like a muppet with my mouth open. Totally upstaged.
I just handed my wallet to the lady and said 'take what you want.'