My 4 year old likes nothing more than going to one of the neighbouring villages skate parks.  He loves it.  Gliding amongst the teenagers on their BMXs and very expensive scooters.

The teenagers have been really respectful so far.  They don’t get annoyed when one of the little ones gets in the way, and they help out anyone who falls over or gets stuck.  There’s a nice sense of camaraderie.  There is an element of swearing, usually following a scooter clash and there was once a scuffle, but I think they can get that same effect at *COUGH* home during any televised sporting event.

When the local teenagers fall off their bikes or scooters I have to hold myself back from running over and making sure they are alright.  On Sunday, one young boy (probably aged 16 and not actually young) fell off his bike, there was blood gushing out of his knee. I had to be restrained by The Husband from proffering a super soft tissue.  He said it would be very uncool for me to say or do anything.  The boy was fine, and on further viewing, during a particularly amazing wheelie, had legs full of scars and scabs.

The litter though.  Jeez.  I did wonder if the litter was to detract from the several new pictures of big hairy penises adorning the skate ramps, or the scrawl that says ‘Jonny Sherlock is a big gay fanny’. I was almost tempted to ring the number underneath ‘Christopher Jennings sleeps with his Grandma’s dog’.  The child shouldn’t be sleeping in a dog basket, surely he needs his own bed?

When we arrived at the skate park, on Sunday, I could see it.  There were chocolate wrappers, crisp packets and plastic bottles rustling in the wind.  Sat amongst them teenage girls with their Donald Trump scrape over fringes and jeggings, watching the teenage boys in their skinny jeans on the half pipe.

In my head I was waggling a finger in their faces and saying “But what if everyone in the world dropped litter, what sort of a world would that be?”

But that would, as The Husband told me, be uncool too.

Instead I shall have to start going there early in the morning, whilst the teenagers are still sleeping.  My boy can have the park to himself and I can happily pick up litter.  I might even make some laminated signs about dropping litter.  How uncool would that be?

Maybe I won’t do that last bit.  Instead, next time I’m there, I shall proudly grab my badge of ‘uncool’ mother, waggle my finger, pick up the litter and berate them all.

… and start as I mean to go on.