|// BABY DUCKS //|
So this is kind of an old story, but since it's up there in the top three Exciting Things that have happened to me this year - seriously, if I was the type to write an annual Christmas letter bragging about our exploits and achievements (which, I can't be the only person who actually, unironically likes reading those, can I? I mean, it's fascinating to me what people choose to share and the spin they put on it), this would be worth at least a paragraph. Maybe more. Anyway, my Mum mentioned that I never did send her the pictures (presumably to add to the familial pantheon of Heroic Duck Stories, along with that one time my much-mythologised-by-me Doolittle Dad climbed a tree in Copenhagen to help a duckling down) so I thought I would share them here also.
Let me set the scene... It was a hazy London morning in early summer. The skies were heavy, an ominous yellow-grey, as we took our daily circuit of the park. Something was brewing, I could feel it in the air as the hairs on my legs stood on end. "Quack." Then, again, "Quack."
I kid, I kid.
But Mister G and I did spot a duck and her four fluffy ducklings walking alongside us on the path by the Serpentine Gallery, heading toward the road, whereupon we sprang into action, full on halting traffic, lollipop lady style, to allow them to cross and then stopped the ducklings running back out into the cars while they worked up the nerve to follow their mum and jump off the bridge.
It was pretty high octane action.
|// hi there //|
|// oh, you're heading that way, toward the road? //|
|// I felt like a HERO doing my TV-learned Traffic Cop Hand Signals //|
|// we provide a full coverage bridge escort service including optional bonus magpie //|
|// jump, little duck, JUMP! //|
|// happy ending //|