Quality Time

I rashly volunteered to look after the daughter's daughter for a day, during her holidays. She has always been glued to her mother's hip, so I have never really spent much time alone with her, and M has been her favourite other person when she comes round here and I have certainly never entertained a 5 year old for a day since her mum was that age (though I have managed a 3 year old nephew for a day, and that involved a day on a train and traipsing around Seaford where every footway was a train track). Great plans for the local zoo on the ferry, but the easterly wind was too horrid (and easterlies are rare here, but when they happen, they rip through every little gap). So after we went to the greengrocers where she helped me greatly (all the heavy stuff in her mini shopping trolley of course), we boarded the train for a trip to Barnstaple (my reasoning being that being on the train at least we would be out of the cold and wind). At first she was missing mummy (and she is the spitting image of her mum when the same age, but never so whingy)(Yada yada yada)
Stop me if I have been here before
but then she went to sleep

A piggy back over the Long Bridge did me in. She finally started to cheer up when we bought a little dog from a charity shop. Further improvements when she spotted strawberries and cream bottle sweets in the pannier market

then she got to have fun in the Wetherspoons (even venturing with me to the loo: it feels very Bad, hanging about in the gents, waiting for her to finish).
Then we wandered back to the station, and on the way way we had fun with the lid to her bubble gum blowing away in the wind.

The Little Traveller was much more up for it now and made her own way across the bridge

where we waited in the sad deserted (except well over 40 passengers turned up for the trip to Exeter) expanse of Barnstaple (Junction!) station for the rotten old FP train which rocked across the Devon Countryside. By this time, the only view of her was her feet,
although we did some drawing and spelling and counting together on the backs of expired seat reservation cards. She took great pleasure in showing her ticket to the conductor, every time he passed on each train.
A quick connection at St Davids and we were back. By this time, I was the only person in her life. Food, drink and doggy provider, the turner of her bike in the hall, the mopper up of her milkshake on the floor of the train, fixer of the zip on her jacket and general all round hero. Then her mum turned up and off they went. Oh well. I think we might be mates. One day. Innocence in a horrid world.