Scarborough, mid-1980’s. Sitting on the beach, which if you don’t know it has tall slopes at the side, and there are some fields at the top.
My grandmother: “Those blobs up there look just like sheep.”
My mother: “They are sheep.”
For many years afterwards, we carried on referring to sheep as “blobs”, finding that endlessly amusing in a way that is quite distinctive to family language that can be tracked down to one specific incident.
I am now the only person alive who remembers this.