A poem that came from nowhere. I am not, repeat not, in the habit of writing poetry. Well, not since my childhood days when I was studying Alexander Pope and was set the challenge of writing satirical poetry about a person of my acquaintance. Oh, and the amazing songs I compose when driving in the car with my children such as “It’s time to go to bed” and “I wuv my wikkle wabbit” and “It’s chilly, chilly, chilly, chilly, chilly”, all of which I consider major works of art.

In the light (and torrential rain) of day, my unsettled feelings last night have past although I still don’t feel particularly happy about the current situation. A life with a bit of normality to it would make a bit of a change for a while. A very welcome change. But I guess there are moments in every parent’s life when they wonder, given the chance, whether they’d really do it all again. And I guess the answer is almost always “yes”, even in my case, though I might have done things differently (like stick to my guns in saying “no” to a placement from this locality)

Meanwhile I sit here at my computer, Smudgelet playing with LegoLoco in the background and Tiddles up at the church preparing the lunch for a special event today… and all of us on the edge of our chairs waiting for the post with a mixture of anticipation and dread.

Now, without Tiddles here, who’s going to make me a cup of coffee? Better be me, I suppose.

4 thoughts on “Goodness

  1. I promise some tea from India, or coffee, should you rather have that. Indian coffee is quite good.

    I still pray hard for Tiddles, and hope your hanging-on person decides to disappear.

  2. That last line wasn’t a subtle introduction of news was it?

    (Rumour, rumour, gossip. The gathered wibpress assemble outside Smudgies door.)

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