Friday was my Dad's birthday, so I took him and my Mom and the kids to tea at the Rob Roy Hotel in Botha's Hill, overlooking the Valley of a Thousand Hills. Here's a picture of the view, though it doesn't really do it justice. We had a yummy tea but the best part of the afternoon was playing with the kids in the playground. The playground equipment is very cool. On a whim I decided to slide down the fireman's pole. My dad, getting used to a feeling of freedom after a recent top-marks post-op checkup, and not to be outdone, did the same.

Me: Dad, what would the doctor say?
Dad: Well, he never explicitly said Glynn, don't go sliding down any fireman's poles.

Fairy nuff.

This was followed shortly after by my mom sliding down the fireman's pole. Yes, really. I'm not sure quite when, but at some point in the last decade I ceased to be embarrassed by such things.

I was really stiff on Sunday, though I'm not sure whether it was due to the fireman's pole or to the hectic obstacle courses we and the kids were setting each other in the garden on Saturday.