Puddles!

I headed back to my tent after talking to the lady-with-the-unpronouncable-name and was promptly accosted on the way by 3 very small kids busy jumping in and over a long narrow puddle at the edge if the road.

The smallest of the three, a boy wearing wellies and thoroughly enjoying the puddle, caught my eye, smiled, waited until I was properly looking and then jumped across to my side of the puddle.

‘Look!’ He said, and jumped back over the puddle.

‘Whoo!’ I cheered.

He looked ate and pointed at the puddle. ‘Your turn.’ It was a demand, but it was stated more like a fact. It wasn’t English or German and it didn’t sound Swedish but it was very obvious what he meant.

I obediently jumped over the puddle.

‘Look!’ He jumped again. ‘You!’

I jumped.

The other kids, two girls, had been busy jumping and sploshing by themselves, but joined into our turn-taking, or rather, continued to do their own thing but turned to wait for me to jump or cheer at them accordingly.

We jumped, stepped, leaped, sploshed, and jumped some more.

It was brilliant.

And then they were called away. To showers and beds I suppose…and hope. I really hope they didn’t get into trouble for talking to strange women or for having fun with the puddle…

Their parents had said something like ‘don’t jump in the puddles, you’re getting your clothes wet’ as I was walking towards them…so I felt a bit guilty joining in and encouraging them.. but who doesn’t love jumping in puddles??