Hymn

Beating

We’ve been holding our breath for the last five weeks.  Willing everything to be okay.  Today, we had our first scan.  And there he was.  Curled up. Just a few centimetres long but with clear (at least to us) head and body, arms and legs.  And his little heart beating furiously away.  I cried at the miracle of it all.  And fell in love immediately. 

Fight Sub

Pushing on the tube is no less rude when the perpetrator’s wearing a suit.  He forced his way on and then blocked the door.  And then was in the way at my stop.  It wasn’t just my stop. Clearly aggrieved by the earlier discourtesy, another Suit roughly barged him out the way. A shout, a shove and a responding push.  The first, I swear, said “Grrrrr!”  “I’ll give you this!” replied the second, holding his clenched fist up like a trophy.

Underground

The journey into work isn’t so bad.  On the contrary, compared to an hour’s drive each way and the numbing regularity of jams, this is a dream.  However, one aspect isn’t.  Every tube ride is nasty.  It’s a bit like an unpleasant and reluctant sexual experience.  Something not impossible to avoid but with alternatives simply too bothersome to seriously consider.  Twenty minutes of thudding against a stranger, all elbows and armpits and other obscured objects.  Finally ejected unceremoniously, hot, sweaty and feeling slightly dirtier for it all.