Heaven; must be there

Heaven.

For some it's this divine place of light and joy worth donning a habit and crossing the legs for. For others (i.e., dad) its akin to the easter bunny. For the boy, it appears to be 128 Rowans Road Moorabbin on every first Sunday of the month (excludes January and total fire bans; must wear closed shoes - no crocs).

See the boy has been somewhat obsessed with trains of late.
Its all Thomas this and Thomas that.
Usual boy stuff.

So Jackie-his-second-mum (a.k.a his family day care lady) mentioned the illustrious gents of the Steam Locomotive Association of Victoria, just up the road from the Baghdad-end-of-Hampton, and henceforth a trip was planned.

Best laid plans of mice and men and all that...
All was readied for an arvo of articulation, when of course the boy refused to go down for his afternoon snooze until far too late and hence appeared to have missed the bus. Or in this case, tank engine. Then mum rang up.

"Errr... I've just driven past; there's cars everywhere..."

So dad and boy packed and rushed off to the wilds of Moorabbin, arriving just in time to buy the last ticket to ride, literally, and stomped in to look at the miniature locos steaming round the track.

Mike just stood.
And looked.
And gaped.
And looked.
And caught flies in his wide open mouth.

No "Thomas!".
No "Twains!".
No "Percy!".

Speechless.
Literally.
Just a gob for catching flies.

Before he reached the average daily adult intake, the station master summoned them forth and plonked them on a carriage - front row centre; Mike right behind the driver.

"Toot toot" and they were off.
And still no sound from the boy.

A lap of the track and a stand on the overpass and the first words were issued ("...Thomas..."), before they marched down again, where a kind man called them over to sit in the drivers seat on his pride and joy for photos, before a final "toot - toot" and puffing off to the station to put the loco to bed.

Mike just stood.
And gaped.
And finally said "Twains!"

A pig in poo.
Heaven.
Must be there (@ 128 Rowand Rd),

As for mum and dad.
Well heaven is lifting the lid on the toot and seeing the boys very first toilet-laid turd.
Tru dinks.
It happened.

Ah.
Heaven.

To each their own.

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