As Mr Fink and I were dropping Little Fink off at Nannies, Shouty Grandad was regaling us with tales from when I was younger. He recounted the tale of a family outing to the Tower of London. Shouty Grandad, Nanny and me (aged about 3-4 I should think and my cousin and her mum and dad had been for a picnic in one of the parks, all home made stuff, cheese, ham, eggs etc then we went for a tour of the Tower. As the party were stopped by the security Beefeater who took Shouty Grandad's bag to search it, the Beefeater plunged his hand in and had a good old rummage around before Shouty Grandad shouted at him to stop and pull out his hand, which the Beefeater did and asked for an explanation. Quoth Shouty Grandad, "You don't want to be putting your hand in there like that, there's a bloody big knife in the bottom of that bag." Hilarity ensues, more Beefeaters arrive, hurried explanations of picnic etc etc!
It must run in the family because when I went to the Tower of London a couple of years ago with Nanny and Little Fink, she was only little, walking, but we took the buggy just in case, we were going into one of the towers and I decided not to take the buggy up the narrow stairs. Being the resourceful mum that I am, I'd brought along a small chain and padlock to secure the buggy if need be. I chained the buggy to the rail at the bottom of the stairs, out of every one's way. We went up into the Tower , enjoyed the sights and came back down again, only to find a Beefeater standing over my chained up buggy. "Is this your pram?" says he. "Yes it is, is there a problem?"Says I. "Yes, it's a bomb threat." says the Beefeater. I come back with, "It's not a bomb threat, it's a BUGGY!" hilarity ensues, more Beefeaters arrive, hurries explanations of lazy parent not carrying buggy everywhere etc etc.
