It was just another Sunday, which can often cheerfully mean the kids are coming round.
Our kids, and their kids.
'Offspring' I think the term is, although that sounds rather dicey given it is not spring yet and they all bathe regularly so are well off from being … off.
Except for me.
I've run out of underarm so the talc will have to do until Monday.
And so, there is the dash down to the shops for some crackers and dip and maybe some garlic bread… and the dash to the freezer to make sure there's enough icecream left.
Oh, and some beverage for the adult sector of course … which helps me cope with some of the kids' tucker when they're not looking.
As the opening day of the final calendar month of winter arrived last Sunday this was the case.
Some of the kids were coming round.
So I went and put on a tidier shirt and gave the old outdoor table a bit of a wipe down as the sun had begun to break through and without much breeze it was rather clement.
So our daughter arrived with the young uns in tow as the clouds of winter slowly dissolved … most timely.
The kids could wander about the back of the section and break things cautiously, while we arranged the nibbles for them upon plates which were continually being restocked.
I know cows have got four stomachs but how many do kids have?
It was while inside sorting the icecream cones that the words of an about-to-turn 5-year-old seared delightfully into my head.
The grandkid came up close to me as I was bending down toward the freezer door and simply asked "why is your hair all white?"
No delay in my answer for I simply responded "because I'm old".
At which he sort of smiled, then went more facially serious and let out a sympathetic-sounding "oooh".
As if by clocking up many decades I had committed some sort of crime.
I had to laugh, then he did too.
I later suggested his hair was sparkling brown because he had been and done the "dunny business" but hadn't washed his hands properly afterwards and had then ruffled his locks.
He didn't get it straight away but his older sisters did and we all chortled while the little bloke wandered off to find something else to wreck.
Kids, and their approach and responses to thoughts and ideas and comments, are verbal treasures.
Like the time our own little lad, who is now much taller and (dammit) a better guitarist than I'll ever be, was with me in a supermarket many years ago.
He would have been about 4 I think.
In front of us in the queue for the check-out was a very large man.
Just another customer to most eyes.
Except a little kid's.
For without warning, and using the impressive decibels little kids seem to push out vocally, he casually remarked "look at the big fat man".
The woman at the till had to bite her lip while people around us looked down at the floor or up at the ceiling.
The large chap just grinned and waved to the little chap … who waved back.
I said something like "kids huh?" and everyone sort of relaxed and carried on.
It's that old saying "out of the mouths of babes".
They describe and remark upon what they simply see, having not been around long enough to understand exactly what discretion and subtlety and political correctness (a horrible term) are.
They are miniature stand-up comics, and you get to enjoy their shows for nothing …except for the cost of crackers and icecream and stuff.
We need kids, for apart from the fact they can be fine entertainers, without them the world would go nowhere, and we need to nurture and encourage them, and inspire them.
Easier said than done at times but they will eventually pick up the baton we will pass on, so we have to ensure that baton is sparking.
As I said to the little chap last Sunday … "one day you'll have white hair too".
And he grinned.
Roger Moroney is an award-winning journalist and observer of the slightly off centre.