Avid readers of this blog, or even those with a tangential interest via a partner who forwards it to you sometimes even though you don’t care at all, may recall that in late 2023 Kevin the Flamingo was tired, rung-out and suffering from at least one slow leak.

Mercifully, Kevin was placed in the ‘shrink wrap for the wet season’ pile over the summer holiday and an internet search was begun in earnest to find a replacement. It was remarkable to me how much comes back in one’s search engine when one types ‘inflatable ride-on costume’. Try it. It yields a pleasingly large selection. So large in fact that we needed to short list and then vote on Kevin’s replacement, via an anonymous preferential ballot.

The short list was:

• rainbow unicorn
• avocado guy
• super pizza man
• ride on chicken
• ride on snail
• ride on prawn
• Shiba Inu

It was a tight ballot actually, with avocado guy exceeding early pre-polling expectations, but ultimately ride on prawn won the day. So we paid our $49.99 and way sooner than you might expect it would take to receive a ride-on inflatable prawn from China, he had arrived on our doorstep. We named him Bob.

Our first impression of Bob was that he was waaay bigger than we expected. He is at least 2 metres end to end, and has a giant protruding fluorescent booty that juts out and then droops grotesquely under its own weight, dragging on the ground. He has creepy little feelers that dangle out all over the place but also cute little blow-up eyes that do somewhat redeem the whole thing. Same as Kevin, Bob has tiny little blow up child-sized legs that are supposed to provide the illusion that I am riding him. But my torso is way too big so it all looks rather confusing and odd. Still, the boys’ objective remains memorable stupidity, and Bob delivers.

This week marked a return to school after a very long summer break. Morning one (Tuesday) brought with it a ferocious monsoonal downpour. This is not an inconvenient drizzle that causes you to hold a magazine over your head while you accelerate slightly from your car to the front door of the cafe, hopping once or twice awkwardly like a gazelle over developing puddles. No, this is like there are families of mischievous possums on your roof dumping buckets of water on you as soon as you exit your front door while others from the same family, who are hiding in the bushes, whip you viciously in the face with palm fronds.

Hmmm.. we thought, as I pulled Bob awkwardly up over my legs, and we peered out through our foggy windows at the aquatic carnage beyond.

“I still want to walk” exclaimed Milo, “we’ll take umbrellas”. Fair enough.

Monty did not express an opinion because Monty was still asleep. This was, as it turns out, not good.

Monty awoke eight minutes before our scheduled departure, took one look at the squall, and declared he was not going to school. Perhaps not ever again. Parents can generally tell when a child is trying it on, reasonably serious or absolutely committed. Monty was absolutely, positively, definitively committed to his course of action, which surprised us because he is not ordinarily that committed to anything… except terrariums.

It was rather quickly apparent that there was to be no negotiation. Not even the desperate and reckless offer of a Crunchie Bar before breakfast made any impact. Nope, this was to be a forced relocation.

So, dressed in aforementioned enormous prawn suit, I scooped Monty out of bed and hoisted him, kicking, screaming and clawing into the air while Kuepps dressed him. I then carried him out into the wild weather and plopped him into the car. The hastily, and not particularly well conceived plan was for Monty and Kuepps to drive really slowly next to Milo and I while we walked the 10 or so minutes to school.

Milo could not have been happier. Torrents of water tumbled down the overflowing gutters, he was using his umbrella to collect water, not shield himself from it, and he was splashing from deep puddle to deeper puddle. My feeble attempts to dissuade this behaviour were fruitless. I had the agility, speed and influence of, well, a giant inflatable prawn. I was helpless.

So by the time we arrived at school Milo was beaming with joy but absolutely, absolutely drenched. Kuepps opened Monty’s door and he was still bellowing at the same volume as if no time had passed at all. It reminded me of that scene from Ace Ventura where he stands on the balcony yelling in a very Jim Carrey way as he opens and closes the ‘double-paned sound proof’ sliding door. Noisy, not noisy, noisy.

So, I scooped him up again, pinching and grappling, and we waddled with as much haste as possible across the street to their school, Milo trying his best to keep Bob’s tail out of puddles.

Ultimately we managed to deposit both children into their respective classrooms (with spare clothes in their bags and smiles of relief on our faces) and escape the school grounds relatively unscathed.

Welcome Bob. Memorable stupidity… check.

Bob on a brighter day