May day fantasy

Being the day it is, when virgins take themselves off to sweet meadows and roll about the dew before dancing themselves senseless with ribbons and flowers around the Maypole, Grit might just have to indulge in some May day fantasies.

Grit's May day fantasies might involve Stefan, the gym teacher where Squirrel, Shark and Tiger take their gym lessons, who is sculptured from material left over from the making of the gods and has a backside... well, enough of that. Or it might be Grit au naturel following her female urges to dance into woods and forests forever, collecting May flowers and weaving scented garlands and singing Tum-tee-hum-hum-hum, before getting cold and fed up, wondering where the toilets are and is there a 5-star hotel nearby for a decent coffee and a slab of chocolate cake.

OK, I might backtrack from the eco-bit, but I wouldn't mind being crowned on a flower-covered throne with May blossom garlands and be The Queen. Then we could pretend the lawn was the village green and Shark and Squirrel and Tiger could dance about. This would be highly gratifying because I could have been chosen from all of the pretty girls of the village to reign over the May Day festivities.

I have to admit this is not likely. I am not exactly the prettiest grape in the bunch and Shark has said she is not dancing ever ever ever, so before I took the throne I'd have to squash the rebellion from the Maids of Honour, then it would turn into a power struggle and would end up looking like a reenactment from the Battle of Bosworth.

Perhaps I could try engaging in some home ed fantasy. Like teaching the children about driving cattle through fire. On second thoughts this might be dangerous because Squirrel sometimes takes things literally and might set fire to her plastic cow set or put them in the oven without telling me like she did with her pretty pink beads.

If all this fails I could try enlisting Dig for some energetic Morris dancing. We could try sticking some deer antlers on him and banging a drum loudly to get him in the mood for a turn around the lawn. I bet he would be a kill-joy though and say he's not playing. So we would have to wait until he falls asleep in his office chair in front of his computer before putting the antlers on. Then I'd get Tiger to start banging the drum.

I don't know. I'm not sure I can translate Grit's fantasies into reality. But I can console myself. I'm sure all these May day rituals are about death or survival. And because suicide's out of the question since it might hurt, the remaining thing I can say with certainty going on every day round here, is survival. But only just.