Heaven comes in the form of Schubert’s impromptu performance accompanying the rustle and thrill of pages turning. The television is OFF! Parents and children are reading.
I used to laugh at the idea of ‘listening to my body’ – Hello?? But my knee spoke to me yesterday. At 2 km it woke up, yawned and said ‘Go back to bed’, at 6 km it started to shout. At 8 km it screamed. Heard it that time!
Dear God, Once, just bloody once, could you let me park perfectly in this tiny space even though there are people watching me? Alternatively, if you could knock the chimney off that house over there to diver their attention? I mean, come ON!!!!
The stairs shudder under the pounding of small feet. Anger slips under the door in the form of a piece of crumpled paper. It’s ‘I-hate-you-Mummy’ time … again!
The sound of a woodpecker hard at work is always a beautiful and welcome sound, but not inside my head please?
I need a microwave big enough to sleep in. I could doze for an hour and come out looking like I’d slept a full 8.
The menopause manual doesn’t mention looking and feeling like a candle melting around the middle.
If the tennis ball at the receiving end of Rafa Nadal’s forehand could feel dizzy, it would feel like the inside of my head right now.
A shadow etched into a beautiful morning, a homeless presence cocooned in a sleeping bag on the seafront bench; no hope of future wings; no hope of future.