But for now it's too cold and I'm staying warm. End of story.
Okay. So. Here I am with our new little flower in my arms and the sun is streaming into the living room of her parents' home as I'm doing the "jiggy" walk up and down in front of the ranchslider.
New parents or grandparents will know this walk well. It's the one where the movement is supposed to stimulate the child to want to sleep or burp, depending on where they are at in the feeding cycle.
It is important to get the amount of jiggying just right.
Successful "jiggying" is measured by A) the child falling asleep or B) the child vomiting on your shoulder.
Anyway.
There I am doing the walk and Nanny Mrs P suggests I should talk to the child as well. By all accounts it is important for the little cherub to hear grandad's voice in her formative years.
Surprisingly for me, I can't think of anything to talk about.
I am still considering my options in that regard when Mrs P decides she needs to go outside, through the ranchslider, down the short driveway and through the main gate to our car parked on the roadside.
As she opens the ranch slider I decide to offer Poppy a running commentary on her Nanny's progress.
Now I know you will all be able to relate to this. It ended up being one of those occasions you just wish you had a camera and a spare hand to film it.
Here's what happened.
Mrs P managed to negotiate the ranchslider and driveway perfectly okay and the action was relayed to Poppy who responded to the velvet smooth tone of my voice with one of those little baby smiles which says I just pooed my pants and you don't know yet.
By now Mrs P has opened the gate and gone through. As she turns to close it the dog of the house named Chevrolet, or Chevvy for short because of his quick turn of speed, has floored it and shot through the gap.
Before Mrs P can grab him he's away across the road and into the park opposite.
The news is relayed to Poppy with an appropriate rise in voice pitch to convey the dramatic circumstances. Think Peter Montcommentary at the America's Cup that time when the Yanks capsized.
So now Mrs P is off after Chevy, who's having none of it and doesn't want to be caught. The whole scene is unfolding like a Benny Hill chase.
Luckily my beloved has retained some of the long-legged natural pace which carried her to a North Island under 16 athletics title twice in one day a few years back and she is closing in.
Hold up, I hear you say. What do you mean she won the title twice in one day? I wasn't there and the story has become a little misty due to the, er, well, mists of time, but it seems she was so focused on the race she didn't hear the gun go for a second time to signal a false start.
To hear her brother tell the story – and he was there – she continued down the track in front of a packed stadium, triumphantly dipping in at the end, only to discover everyone else was waiting for her back at the start.
Apparently, there were a few sniggers as she made her way back to her starting block but she silenced them with another strong run, this time being first of the eight who actually crossed the finish line.
But I digress. Back to the park.
Mrs P is off after the dog and I'm commentating, and laughing if truth be told, at the scene in front of me.
Eventually Chevy gets tired of being chased by the remarkably lithe, long-legged,(and it has to be said, still hot) grey-haired lady and stops, exhausted. He's led back to the property by Mrs P and slumps down in the sun for a rest.
I complete the commentary for Poppy and sign off as Nanny comes back through the ranchslider, out of breath – which is probably a good thing because when I started laughing she didn't have the strength to give me a bollocking.
And it seems all the excitement has done the trick and Poppy is now in a deep state of slumber.
I put her down and come back to the lounge where I find Chevy in a similar state on the front deck.
And on the couch "resting" with her eyes shut, if you get my drift, is a former North Island Under 16 sprint champion who probably wishes she'd done the jiggying duties instead of me.
• Kevin Page is a teller of tall tales with a firm belief too much serious news gives you frown lines. Feel free to share stories to editor@northernadvocate.co.nz (Kevin Page in subject field).
