Post 353: Asking for help in the garden, and getting caught in the headlights.
Spring cleaning has to be one of the strangest — and most satisfying — urges of the year.
It just arrives.
Out of nowhere, there’s this pull to sort th...
Post 352: Old Mother Hen and some Volvo kindness.
With the care and loving attention of a rare-breed hen, I gathered my chocolate eggs onto the kitchen worktop — partly for safety, partly for display — but mostly because I was proud of t...
Post 351: Emotions on the tip of my tongue.
For three days in a row now I’ve been unable to hold back the tears, “but heaven knows I’m miserable now” — The Smiths.
Yesterday’s (blog) outpouring — poem or no...
Desperation lines.
(353:385)
(By Dysfunctional Dave)
Just roll over she says aloud, in front of all my friends.
But I think to myself that’s easy for you but I just can’t, it bloody hurts.
I now feel worse because deep inside I’v...
Post 349: Big Sis and no Big Bro.
It’s Friday, 10 o’clock, and it’s (not) Crackerjack. But it is time for my Darling to head off to the weigh-bridge with all her mates.
I was hoping she was being picked up, but as I looked down th...
