It must have been that school trip to Wilton Windmill in Wiltshire when I was very young that sparked it. I’ve always wanted to go back and so finding myself with two windmill-obsessed BUBs, last Sunday I suggested we go. Let’s just go, I said.
Enclosed by a perimeter fence, it is open Sunday and Bank Holidays, and is just a beautiful old windmill, a tea and coffee shed, and a port-a-loo. For the first time in months, there was no chill wind, and so we spread our picnic blanket out (along with a handful of other people) around the edge of the fence and waited for the miller to show us around.
While we waited, about fifteen Porsches, BUB.1’s main obsession, drove one by one into the small enclosure and parked up around the windmill. We were agog. Could this get any better?
“HORSE!” shouted BUB.2 as he galloped over to the other fence to view three of the most beautiful horses (his own obsession) I have ever seen.
Apart from the walk to the top of the windmill, he didn’t much move from there the entire afternoon, while BUB.1 raced around the Porsches with another small boy wearing a Porsche t-shirt and Porsche cap, who apparently already knew the Porsches were arriving and had dressed accordingly.
There were no queues, no mini train rides, no animals to pet, no frames to climb, no maps to follow, no chicken nuggets, no other sights to see. And there didn’t need to be. We stayed for hours, enjoying the balmy afternoon, the beautiful windmill and the BUBs safely enclosed by fencing, running around and around a windmill, screeching with laughter, ice lolly juice smeared across their faces, with nowhere else to go.
As I sat on my rug, the thought occurred that I could even have bought my Kindle.
Now, that NEVER happens on a day out.