Hitchhiker

The Boy Wonder and his mother are visiting R and me for twenty four hours. He arrived with his own vacuum cleaner - a toy Henry that was a very recent gift from one of L's best friends (and Best Women), and which he absolutely adores. Though sadly, not quite as much as he adores playing with our hose pipe, which through post-viral oversight we'd neglected to put away this morning. In the interests of not having to argue about this for the rest of the day, I asked him to help me carry it to the garage. The subsequent interrogation might just have been the longest ten minutes of my life.

What is this?

What is it for?

What is it for though?

What does this do?

Is this Granddad's mower?

Why does he have a mower in here?

Is this a button? Can I push it?

What does this handle do?

What is this red fing?

Can I pull it?

What is this?

What do these do?

Why is there a bicycle in here?

What is that big red bucket for?

Why do you have three hose pipes?

Is this one Daddy's?

What is this?

What is this?

What is this?

What is this?

What does this do?

Can you show me?

Please can you show me?

What is that fing there? No, not that one. No, not that one. No, not that. That one. No. That one. That green fing. What is it for? Can I use it?

What is this? Is it a hammer? Can I try it?

What are these for?

Why do you have all of these cutting fings?

Why do you need to cut plants?

Can I use them?

Can I turn this on?

Am I allowed to touch it though? Just touching?

What is this?

What is this?

What does this one do?

What is this?

&c., &c., &c.

By the time the cavalry arrived, in the shape of Granddad R, I felt as though my brain was starting to seep out of my ears. The questions I hadn't been able to answer about the lawnmower were promptly re-asked, and were met by an engineer's explanation of the workings of a petrol engine, at which point I opened my mouth to intervene, and then thought better of it, and simply left them to it. Anything the Boy didn't immediately understand, I figured, would simply be asked again. And he's nearly three, for goodness' sake - isn't it time he knew how a lawnmower works?

A little later I found some Green Shieldbugs, and pointed them out to the tiny genius: "That one is a grown-up, and that one is a baby. Very soon the baby will turn itself into a grown-up like the big one," while the Boy Wonder listened in silence, with the considering gaze of a child who was presumably wondering how reliable this information might be, given that it came from an old woman who doesn't know about lawnmowers. Before he had time to object, though, R suddenly interjected, "Oh look!", and produced this Orange Ladybird, which he'd spotted on my back. It must have dropped on me from a tree while I was down in the wild garden - which was ironic, because I'd been particularly looking for Orange Ladybirds at the time, and not finding any. "Can you get it on your finger?" said B, ignoring the fact that he'd just watched R passing it to me, and me having to positively coax it off my hand and onto the viburnum. "No, I don't think so," I replied. "I think it will be happier there." For which I received another Special Look. I fear that my days of being regarded as any kind of authority on anything at all are well and truly over.