Well it took us some time to recover from the incident with the cows. Every manhole cover was a cowhole cover; every wheelie bin was a cunningly disguised cow. You get the picture. But gradually things returned to normal (provided, of course, that we avoided cows). Until today.
There we were, pottering along the road in the sunshine, and suddenly we came across a horse-drawn caravan coming the other way.
Titch: WHAT is that?
Me: A caravan. Look. There's horse pulling it.
Titch: The silly bugger. You wouldn't get me doing that.
Me: Well, no-one's asking you to pull it; just to pass it.
Titch: Ooooooh no. I'm going home.
He proceded to do just that. Backwards.
Me: Why are you going backwards?
Titch: Got to keep an eye on it, haven't I?
Me: Don't be so ridiculous. Besides, that's the long way home, and we are going to go the proper way home. Forwards. And past that caravan.
There followed a bouncy prancy little number, choreographed by Titch, with much snorting and clattering of hooves. We were holding up the traffic both ways. It was becoming embarrassing. The people in the caravan looked amused. The people in cars, bored but patient.
In the end, I had to ask the caravan people (who, after all, are also horse people) to lead him past the caravan. It took two of them, all of us telling Titch what a good, brave boy he was (which wasn't true).
He danced his way home, muttering about near misses and narrow escapes, and arrived at the stables dripping with sweat.
Back to square one...
