The potato and the stone

It was a hot summer’s day. It always is, if it’s school’s sports day. Friday, last week of June.

It was a hot summer’s day, it was school sports day, 8am and no school lunch. Or rather picnic lunch.

It was a hot summer’s day, school sports day, 8am, no picnic prepared – no problem. I was going to attend the day, and bring the picnic lunch with me.

What happened in the half hour gap between the school run and the start of the school’s sports day may justify the fact itself.

I went home, emptied the freshly delivered bag of new potatoes, loosely washed them and briskly boiled the whole lot on the hob.

To the cooled potatoes I added some cheese cuttings and a pot of not very tasty homemade hummus, a bottle of water and a bag of apples and out the door I disappeared.

There followed the usual turmoil of playground sun, suncream and fatigue which slowly but surely occupied every bone in my body by lunch. By the time we sat down, we were all  – children and myself- hungry.

The children grimaced in disapproval at the sight of the boiled potatoes, but, good children as they are, they sat down to eat them.

When minutes later I was handed over one small and rather humble-looking potato, I handed it back, asking my eldest child to bite harder. And harder she bit. Once, twice. She made no attempts the third time, but rather, sensible as she is, she handed over the potato: ‘It is a stone, mummy.’

We keep said potato in our little box of memorabilia, together with our copper wedding rings (another story) and a random assortment of baby teeth. Only fitting, I say.

Fortunately, no teeth were harmed in this process.

Neither was said stone which was masquerading as a potato.

And now, a warning! If you are preparing to attend a school sports day in the near future, make sure you check your bag of new potatoes, for the appearance of unexpected stones.