Bank Holiday Blues

2 astronauts and air traffic control crafting

Well, The Boss was back in work today so it was just the minxes and me. Yippee! But they weren’t at all interested in my ideas of going to the beach, going to spot new leaves in the woods, or helping me sow some seeds in the garden.

play helmets

Major Tom and Commander Tim try their helmets out

Oh. OK, what do you want to do today, then? It’s your holidays too. You want to build a space rocket. Ah. Another stay at home day, then. Well, you can do what you like with pens, scissors, sellotape, glue, pipecleaners, card, playdough and anything you find round the house. But no glitter. GLitter’s right out. No chance-eroony. I blew my glitter tolerance valves out months ago.

Actually, we had a lot of fun. Instead of trying to direct the girls in their crafting and building efforts, I just stepped back, tried not to shudder when Midi

The Captain. Naturally. All leaders have those funny antennae. And zips up the back of their necks

wielded her scissors a bit too close to her sister’s long, beautiful mane of hair, and let them get on with it. I asked the odd question to get them going when they paused, like: “What do space astronauts wear? What colours? What clothes do you have that are that colour?” (So now you know why Maxi is wearing head-to-toe white and Midi is in pale pink. Pink? Well, would *you* ever buy Midi Minx anything white?!)

They decided that I was allowed to play, so long as I was the token alien. Maxi made me a fetching third eye for my forehead, thoughtfully sticking it on with double-sided sellotape.

The all-important 3 warning lights on the rocket's dashboard. Obviously.

The navigational dashboard

Midi made some dashboard controls: one is obviously full of writing, and the other has the crucial red, amber and green warning buttons on it.

scotland flag

Maxi: "That's one small step for a scot..." Mini: "Oi, Captain, shift that pile of space-junk off the pan!"

Maxi was too busy making a nice Scottish flag to stick on the moon to notice that Midi had grabbed the pilot’s post. “Never mind!”, I breezed, “You can be the Captain and therefore the boss. Here, have a light sabre”. She perked up a bit when I let them have Space Drinks (juice cartons) and Space Snacks (bananas in some silver foil envelopes). Still, the most miserable one of the bunch was Mini: she relished her role as shrieking Space Traffic Control, yelling abuse at Midi The Dastardly Space Pilot through her echoing microphone.

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