Or, in other words, How To Visit Your Local Park Yet Again In Rubbish Weather Without Going Insane.
We’re Going on a Bear Hunt is one of Henry’s favourite books – you should hear his pronunciation of ‘what a bleu-la-ti-foo day’ – so I suggested we go to the park for a bear hunt of our own. There are a lot of bear-friendly hiding places in Prospect Park. We checked them all.
We found the thick, oozy mud (and so did my car boot)…
…then the deep cold river (squelchy duck pond)…
…then the big dark forest.
No bears. I speculated that they might be hiding under the tree roots. Henry scoffed. Too small for bears, he said. They’re probably having their lunch. Still, we brought a (very unimpressed) bear with us as a back-up, so we weren’t totally empty-handed.
Of course, we should have known. When you go looking for bears, you’ll end up finding a swirly whirly snowstorm, which in real life doesn’t go ‘hoo wooo’, but something more like FEEL MY ICE BRICKS AND DESPAIR, FOOLS.
We’re not going on a bear hunt again (until all of us have dried off, and February decides to stop being a prize ass).