So... here we are, having just walked about 250m down a path to the beach (the one off the southern half of Anchorage Drive, Mindarie), then about 50m along the beach, when Miss 4 pipes up, “Dad, I can feel my poohs starting to come out.”
She was wrong. When I checked, I discovered that we were dealing with a... fully emergent phenomenon. And we were equipped with what by way of spares and cleaning gear? Zilch. The help and sympathy I was offered were encapsulated in just three words: “Well, she’s yours.”
I finally managed to beg a handkerchief from Greville, who assures me that he doesn’t want it back again, thank you, dug a shallow hole, levitated madam while she completed her, ah, transaction, then covered it, took the knickers and handkerchief down to the waterline and scrubbed them lots in sandy water, spreading them on the sun-side of rock to dry while she donned her knickerbockers and we caught up with everyone else.
A van’s widnscreen wipers make a great blow-dryer (everywhere north or west of the Brisbane Line, anyway), but it does earn you some startled looks.