The chemistry down at Wynnum seafront was a little different to usual. Last Friday everything was fun, fun, fun but this morning it was all a tad lacklustre. Sure, there were lots of people there (still Easter holidays for the children) but something was missing; for one thing, the whales didn’t have much spurt – some of the jets had been turned off or sabotaged in some way – therefore there weren’t many squeals of delight coming from that direction; and some of the tiny mermaids appeared to have lost the will to live as they lay almost motionless, waiting in vain to be surprised by random spumes of water, on the backs of the whales.

Then there was Mason. Roland’s two and a half year old grandson was off-colour and had a nasty chesty cough. He tried to raise a smile in the car as he shook his samba rattle in time with my hummed rendition of “the conga” song but you could tell his heart wasn’t really in it. Happily, my musical efforts weren’t completely wasted for Henry and Roland were humming the tune quite some time later.

“Mason has a bad cough,” I said concerned.

“Yes, it’s very chesty,” agreed Henry who had come along with us (he lives at Wynnum).

“Perhaps he ought to see a doctor if it persists,” I suggested.

“I’d get him to a doctor,” said Henry, “I think he could do with antibiotics.”

“It does sound chesty – doesn’t it?” Roland nodded.

Mason took me by the hand and led me to the disappointing whales, was uninspired (like the immobile mermaids), and explored the climbing net which had held such fascination only a week ago but now left the little chap bored and uninterested (though, to his credit, he tried hard to relive his previous experience). We went back to the menfolk who had stayed at one of the tables under the big shady trees. Mason coughed, blew his nose into the tissue I proffered and didn’t look very happy.

“Perhaps he’d like Uncle Henry to take him to the swings,” I hoped Henry would rise to the occasion (which he did).

The swings were equally uninspiring to the now tired, grumpy and unwell toddler.

“I think he needs a doctor, Sally,” said Henry upon their return to the table.

“He’s really not well,” I agreed, “but I’m sure his mum is keeping an eye on him.”

I took Mason’s hand and began walking to the whales (which I hoped had become miraculously fully functional in the short time since our last inspection).

“I think I ought to see a doctor,” said Mason (at least, that’s what I made it out to be!).

“Do you want to see a doctor?” I bent down and picked him up.

“Yes,” he answered quite clearly.

“Mason wants to see a doctor,” I announced to Henry and Roland.

“I’ve got an idea,” Roland whispered to me, “Sally, you’re good at talking to people so why don’t you ask someone to pretend that they are a doctor?”

“Well, Uncle Henry is a doctor,” I said loudly, “Aren’t you Henry?”

“Yes, I’m known as Doctor Henry,” he replied extremely loudly and adopted an expression of great intelligence and benevolence.

“Would you mind giving Mason the once over?” asked Roland.

“Why certainly not! Now you just stand here in front of me, Mason, and I’ll give you a check-up….”

“Thank you Doctor Henry,” I said in an unusually humble manner.

I ushered Mason over to Doctor Henry and, being a good boy (and well brought up), he stood awaiting instructions.

“Stick out your tongue please,” said Doctor Henry.

“Could you ask him to do it again?” I implored, “I don’t know if my mobile camera caught that!”

By the fifth time of asking, Mason (who is a smart kid) could hardly be bothered and poked out his tongue only half-way. Doctor Henry completed his examination by looking in the child’s ears and nose, and tapping his chest, back and front.

“What’s the diagnosis?” asked Roland.

“I think he’ll be alright for today but if the symptoms persist he must be taken to another doctor and given antibiotics. Oh, and he needs a sleep,” added the good doctor.

Half an hour later Mason had at last fallen to sleep; and Doctor Uncle Henry and Granddad Roly, plus many of the surrounding adults and children around the tables under the big trees, were very nearly asleep after listening to me singing “The Runaway Train Came Over the Hill and she Blew..”  and “Jesus Bids us Shine” twenty times (or more) apiece.

And if you don’t believe a word of it just look at the photographic evidence…

Thank goodness they look much nicer than their name suggests! (But not quite as bad as what I mistakenly thought they were called – ‘scaly bald-headed lorikeets’!)