A Day Out At The Docks

I’m lucky enough to work just four days a week, and Monday is my day off with the twins.  We’re always much more adventurous on a Monday than we are at the weekend, for the simple fact that it’s quieter, and managing two lunatic two year olds - who only do about 10% of what they’re asked to do - is significantly easier with fewer people around.  Plus, my mum is here on a Monday, so I have another body to help me corral them. So today, after months of saying “Oooh, we must go there,” we took them to the Historic Dockyard Chatham.  I’m not writing a normal review (it was ace though – absolutely go if you’re in the area) instead I’ll give you the six most typical moments of the day.

1. We Set Off An Alarm.  We buy our tickets then head to have lunch in The Mess Deck, which passes without incident (obviously there are 47 toilet trips but that’s par for the course).  Once we’re finished, we approach the electronic gates, tickets in hand.  I foolishly beep D&Z’s tickets first.  They run through and disappear down the slope, ignoring me bellowing “WAIT FOR MUMMY!”  I manage to get through the gate and chase after them.  I see that mum is struggling to get her ticket to work, so I firmly instruct my children to stay where they are (they ignore me) and go back to help mum.  Me approaching the gate makes it open.  Mum thinks it’s her ticket that’s made it open, so walks through.  “BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP!” Mum stops and looks horrified and scurries back.  I’m bellowing at the children to stay where I can see them, whilst also snorting with laughter.  The nice lady who sold us our tickets arrives and helps mum through the gate.  We’re in.

2.  Mum Gets Confused.  After a brief chat with a Very Nice Lady about what there is to see (bonus points here to the other Very Nice Lady who talks to the twins while Very Nice Lady Number 1 is talking to me and Mum, and manages to keep them still and inoffensive for a good two minutes. Impressive, Lady, impressive).  We walk into the first room and there’s this boat:

The World's Tiniest Ship

I can’t tell you much about it, because having two year old twins means you don’t get to read much (and I’m on high alert, should Zachary attempt to climb on it) but I manage to glance at a sign that tells me it’s a model of The Victory.  Mum turns to me in absolute wonder and says “Blimey! I can’t believe how small it is!” I’m a bit confused – as models of ships go, it’s pretty huge.  I soon realise Mum thinks it’s an actual ship and I’m snorting again (I’m still a bit hysterical from the gate alarm).  I tell her it’s not a real ship and soon she’s snorting too.  The twins join in and we have a really lovely, giggly couple of minutes, where one of us keeps setting the other one off. 

3.  Zachary Wets Himself.  My son has peed all over England, so this really is inevitable. Technically, he’s potty trained.  Really, he just doesn’t wear nappies anymore and sometimes he wees in a toilet.  Often, he doesn’t.  Depends what mood he’s in.   We’re in an interactive gallery where they can pull ropes and use (pretend) two handed saws and the like and it’s all too exciting for him.  There’s pee forming in a giant puddle beneath him and Daisy’s shrieking “ZACHARY HAS WEED! HE HAS DONE A WEE!”  Fortunately, I am a pro at this* (and also fortunately, we’re the only ones in the room).  I get the wipes out, mop the wee up, chuck the wipes in the plastic bag that is always in my rucksack, strip his bottom half (while he wrestles me to get back to the rope pulling), redress his bottom half and we carry on. We finish the room with a video.  They sit down for at least two minutes and it’s just too cute: 

Still, For Two Minutes

4.  I Get A Bit Shrieky.  We go on a ship that’s in dry dock (HMS Gannet).  It’s fun.  It’s not that big.  We go into the cabin at the end and that’s where I get shrieky.  There’s a glass bottomed bit that makes me sh*t myself.  I hold onto a pole while my children look at me like I’m the lunatic and say “What is wrong, Mummy?”  Sweating, I tell them nothing is wrong but look! Look at the lovely glass bottomed bit of the boat. They both look terrified and I realise I need to pretend I am absolutely fine with my two most precious beings walking on the glass.  I smile brightly.  “Go on!” I say (whilst still clutching the pole) “You walk across it!” My mum (legend) braves it to show them it’s not scary (it bloody is scary!) They both walk across it.  Zach stamps.  I get shrieky.  We leave.  Standard.  I take some pictures first though:

Walking On Water

5. We Don’t Realise What We’re Getting Into.  Having left the terrifying (but brilliant) glass bottomed boat, we head to the war ship HMS Cavalier.  On our way in, another Very Nice Lady warns us to take care not to trip and to go down the steps backwards.  I spy what looks like some very treacherous steps and nod knowingly.  We make our way down them, one twin at a time.  We see some cool war-shippy stuff.  We reach some even steeper steps.  I tell my children to go up them (up is fine) and that mummy is below them.  Then there’s some more.  We go up those too.  Then Daisy tells me she needs a wee and wiggles her bum in a way that suggests weeing is imminent.  We’ve befriended a group of four in their 60s who smile indulgently.  “Come on, then,” I say much more confidently than I feel, “Let’s find a toilet.”

To find a toilet, we have to go back down the Very Very steep steps.  I am not good with heights.  Not good at all.  I take a deep breath and start to scale the first set.  I get halfway down, grip the hand rail and tell Dais to come to me.  She’s too scared to actually step so I have to carry her. “Very good, good idea,” says one of the chaps encouragingly.  Another lady is waiting at the bottom to come up; she offers to stay with Dais so I can go back up to get Zach (the kindness of strangers never fails to make my heart swell). I go back up (because what I want to do is scale these steps again), get Zach and repeat.  Mum gets down the steps.  We have two options: go back down another set of similarly hair-raising steps or go out of a mystery door.  I poke my head out of the mystery door, see water and some even steeper steps and opt for the former.  I repeat the process again (twice), this time getting wedged on the stairs at one point because of my bast*rd backpack.  We finally get back down to entry level, find our way back to the original set of steps (which now look practically horizontal) and hastily leave. I didn’t take photos of any of this; I was too busy trying not to wig out.

6.  We go to the soft play that’s there.  Me and my mum drink coffee and eat cake (really, really good lemon drizzle cake).  I tell the kids they have five minutes left.  They play some more.  I tell the kids their time is up.  Zachary willingly leaves.  Dais throws a sh*t fit. I tell her we’re going to leave her there. She screams some more.  I tell her I’m serious, we actually will leave her there.  She comes with us. Standard.

*What a thing to be ‘pro’ at: cleaning up piss. This motherhood malarkey really raises the self-esteem.