My Wednesday walk

I go walking with a friend, each Wednesday.
My friend Bill (I'm sure he won't mind me calling him that) and I go out for coffee each Wednesday morning. I drink the Cappucino and he shares the creamy froth and grabs the little chocolate piece that comes on the saucer, and we usually share a small cake or tart. By that time he and I have walked around several suburban blocks, investigated a long-closed butcher's display window, and watched carefully for approaching cars before crossing half a dozen or so intersections.
This week, we inspected the completed paving at one home, met the young couple at the second corner and made friends with their Border Collie dog, and Bill walked all the way along the top of the low brick wall, not far from home.
So, you'll understand why we need to visit that little coffee shop - especially because the best part of the expedition is yet to come. After refreshments, you see, we have to go train watching, from the little park right next to the local station.
Young Bill, by the way, is a bit older than two now. He's my youngest grandson and within our local family, where love and fun is shared equally between him and his sisters, we like to get out on our own . . .Bill's a train "nut". He has at least a dozen "Thomas" train models, a train set that he grudgingly shares with his sisters, plus the required T shirts and hats.
Our rail-side park is a playground, and while we await trains I get the chance to nod to, or chat to, other grandfathers while we push at the swings and catch small bodies launched from the heights of a cubby house, all the while awaiting the call to lift junior onto the fence top to allow waving to the train driver and his passengers.
Why is it that, while train drivers sometimes wave to children, suburban passengers never do?
Anyway, when I've tired of train watching, and pushing, and catching, and lifting, we set off home, the shorter way, where my young charge does the traditional things, like rat-tat-tatting his fingers along the corrugations of several fences, picking up rotten apples and a variety of pebbles, and admiring the fishes painted at the base of one particular power pole, until - about four houses from home and family, the effort gets a bit much and Granddad (also a bit tired) gets to carry this small parcel home.
The nub of it -
At 70, when we settled down and were welcomed into long-term grandparenthood, I wasn't sure I could cope. The mass of nappies (or whaver they call them these days), the previously barely remembered smells, the runny noses and the constant barrage of noise in the the small home was quite confronting.
But they've changed - all of them. The twins are delightful in their so-called "terrible twos" and their older sister (she goes to ballet lessons now) is a delight these days. And me? Well, I've changed too. I'm glad I'm a Grandad and I'm sorry I can't do the job as well with my family inter-state as well.
I have to admit, though, that after a few hours grandfathering, and our morning walk, Bill's not the only one who needs a sleep!