Today was First-born's sports day. She shares her father's athletic prowess, or total lack thereof.
The first race was the 100 metre sprint. I have a camera that I used to take photos of 200mph superbikes in the Isle Of Man. For First-born I had to jiggle it in order to create the illusion of motion blur.
The second was a relay race. Initially, I wondered if I'd misread the race card - but no, she hoved into view some distance behind the other runners.
The last was a mixed relay race. This time the teachers had the cunning plan of applying a handicap to the winning house. This handicap was, er, First-born. On a temporary transfer.
First-born herself, of course, didn't care in the slightest. Her quote:
"All this running about and racing? Seems a bit pointless to me. Can I have my book back, please?"
Of course, First-born has the glory of always being spectacularly last in every sporting event. I, alas, was always second from last, which is just not the same. Not the same at all.
