My first fete
The sun spread itself about my room, and lay gently upon my face. My brown eyes opened slowly, shiny like metal in the light. I gave a deep yawn and shifted myself into a more comfortable position where I could be just out of reach from the glow of the determined sun. I skipped out of bed energetically and wandered through my narrow hallway and into the kitchen. The smell of bacon drifted towards me, invigorating my body, stirring my senses. I spotted my mother and pleaded for a crisp crimson rasher. Her dark black hair bounced as she shook her head. “It’s too hot for you, and anyway you wouldn’t eat it all. ”
I turned away from her. I was heartbroken. The smell tormented me, and then crushed my spirits.
My father walked through, carefully carrying my sister who gave a cry of delight at the smell. Recently, she had acquired a dangerous interest in cooking from the ever-glowing television. My parents had bought a chef’s play set for the serial killer, who plunged her pink spinning weapon into our fish tank and snatched the lives of six unsuspecting gold fish. There was one lone survivor, who witnessed his family being swept away by the merciless egg whisks. Sadly, Freddy died a week later.
Anyway, I munched through my bowl of crisp fruit puffs, staring at the toucan on the box. I got dressed and then went with my parents to the car. That day we were going to a local fete and South African weather was perfect for a fun day out. My father lifted me into the car, whilst his glasses slid off his nose.
“When’s my birthday?” I pondered.
“Soon, honey,” sighed my mother, trying to keep the sun from jabbing her in the eyes.
When we arrived, I scraped at the car door, trying to escape the heat. Outside, small, multicoloured, triangular flags lined the gates of the lush green park that was being used for the fete. They gave a fit of activity every time the wind sped past. My family and I crept slowly towards the large crowds and the mixed murmur of voices and music. We managed to struggle through the crowds and reach a small area that wasn’t yet over run. Here there were colourful posters advertising games and stalls, that would give you money or sell you a cake, but more importantly they had toys!
Shiny, plastic figures, plush cuddly toys and brightly coloured yo-yos all lined the shelves, and they begged me to take them home, really, they did! But my parents only let me have one, so I chose a He-man action figure. He came with a huge plastic sword and was ready to defeat the evil Skeletor. Clair managed to pick out a pink, floppy eared bunny. I charged about with He-man, beating up cans of drink and Floppsy the giant bunny.
My parents gripped my hand tightly, so that they didn’t lose me in the crowds. We stopped at an area that was full of picnic tables, and we waited for my father to bring us our lunch. He came from deep within the crowd, bearing sandwiches, drinks and a few biscuits. I tried to feed some of our lunch to my sister, but she just screwed up her face and turned away. “Come on, Kiddo,” rasped my father as he took my hand, “let’s throw this rubbish away, yeah?”
I followed him as if I were in a queue for an execution; I was led towards a huge black bin and tossed everything carelessly into it. Suddenly a red bobbing balloon caught my eye, a clown in baggy blue trousers was handing them out. I raced over, tugging at my father’s arm and the clown placed the string in my hand and warned me never to let go. That balloon did not know what had hit it. I did not hold the string; I squeezed it, I kept it short of breath and trapped it in a sweaty clamp. I rushed back to the picnic tables and boasted to my mother about it. Though, this was short lived, as my balloon was immediately popped by the table’s unusually sharp corner. “Daddy, can you fix this?” I said handing over the withered plastic.
“Ah, I’m sorry, ma boy, but you can’t fix balloons.”
My father could fix anything (except for balloons). He was a marine engineer, and before that he had worked on a giant oil tankers and merchant navy ships.
My spirits were extinguished by this huge set back, but at least I still had He-man, with his shiny brownish skin and his lack of clothing. We ended up by going home at about six o’clock because Clair was getting cranky; she mainly slept through the rest of her day, whist my parents quietly rested in front of the television set and read the newspaper, I planted myself in our lounge and threw my hero into the air, imagining that he was doing fabulous flips and crazy kicks.
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