Thick, oozy, scquelchy mud.
You love mud.
You saw a puddle at the weekend and jumped in.
Squelch squerch you called as you waded in.
The mud on the outskirts of the mud oozed over and into your doodle pumps.
The muddy puddle - possibly the only one in the park - was deep.
In you went.
Up to your knees.
Even if you had worn your wellies, I don't think they would have helped.
Not in that muddy puddle, that's for sure.
You lay down in it and kicked your legs, shrieking with delight and joy.
It was on your nose and in your hair too.
On the squelchy and squirchy walk back up the hill towards home, we passed a family.
The Mum's mouth dropped wide open as she stared.
The Dad smiled and said: that looks like you had brilliant fun.
A lovely Muddy Day, you said.