The other day, Son-in-Law 1 and I took Grandson for a walk in the park round the biggest of our city hills, Arthur's Seat. The hill is so familiar to me, from all angles, from 62 years of walking or driving round it (and occasionally climbing it). Whenever we're driving back Edinburgh, I know we're nearly home when we can see it on the horizon.
The next day we took the little chap to a playpark. Ah, the future possibilities of swings and chutes (as we call them in Scotland - slides, as you may know them).
Grandson isn't well, though. He's had a cold for ages and I think it's now segued into another one. Yesterday he was a bit feverish and from time to time had to sit on someone's knee and suck his thumb, looking solemn, which isn't like him.
To cheer us up, SIL 1 got dressed in Grandson's play tunnel. He managed to extract himself afterwards, you'll be pleased to hear. (These are his cycling shorts, by the way. How lovely to be that slender.)