Happy Bear is back.
But first I should explain. Happy Bear was a gift to Four when he was One, if you follow. He came all the way from England (that's the bear, not One) and he is one of the cuddliest bears you'll ever see.
Nowadays Four is more interested in Transformers, Spider Man, The Ginger Turtles - as he calls them - and fighting with Two, so Happy Bear had been passed down the line to Two who loved him like a brother. Well, actually he seemed to love him rather more than his brother, but that's boys for you.
Anyway, one day Happy Bear disappeared. This is not an unusual occurrence. Toys get lost everyday in our house. There must be some kind of black hole into which they are sucked, never to be seen again. I tried the usual places - the car, under the sofa, in the garden, in a bed, under a bed, stuffed down the toilet, and in the fridge or cooker. But Happy Bear was nowhere to be seen. Until this week.
A friend of mine who is familiar with the heartbreak caused by the bear's disappearance happened to be in a branch of charity shop Vinnies this last weekend. This being the suburb I live in, it's apparently full of Armani, Hugo Boss, Jimmy Choo and Versace cast-offs. There are bargains to be had, so I'm told, but what that means in a place where the average house price is $3.2million I'm not sure.
However, sitting in the box of bears was Happy Bear, so she told me. Now, there can't be too many Happy Bears out there and certainly not on the route I travel every week as I take Four to pre-school while Two rides in the pushchair. So, I figured Two must have dropped HB out of the pushchair, someone picked him up and next thing he's nudging shoulders with a bejewelled Barbie, naked Ken and a clown called Mr Bobo.
So, I go in there and the three old women look at me. Sadly while they appear to be able to see, they cannot hear.
"A friend of mine saw Happy Bear in here on the weekend," I say.
The younger one (she's about 94) says, "I don't work here on the weekends. Whist drive."
"Sorry to hear that, hope it gets better soon," I say. "Now, can I take Happy Bear off your hands? He is a bear from England who will be feeling rather sad because he should be at home with us," To which Two joined in with, "Appy Bear! Appy Bear!"
"He's your bear is he?" asked another woman who appeared to be on the verge of toppling over.
"He is indeed."
The third woman, who wore a dress with more flowers than you'll find in the entire botanical gardens of Australia in summer, squinted at me. "You look a little old for a teddy bear."
I squinted back at her. "I hope you're not going to give me any trouble ladies. The bear is coming with me."
"How much will you pay?" asked Miss Ninety-Four with a rasping voice (I think it was just her age, nothing sinister...)
"Oh," I said, "my mistake, I thought this was Vinnies, not the Gambino sisters."
"Oh, let him take the bear," said the toppling one, "the bear doesn't belong here. It is a Pommy bear."
"Appy Bear," said Two as he clutched the bear to his chest.
Outside the shop he threw him out of the pushchair and into the path of an eight wheel truck.
"Appy Bear," said Two.
"No, he's not," I said, as I watched the truck go up the road with the revolving bear stuck between two fat rear wheels.
14/11/07 @ 11:06