Hymn

Cue Request

Three weasel-like looking girls tried to push into the queue.  It was a long queue.  It was their second attempt.  They looked under ten and wore similar pastel-coloured tee-shirts with complex slogans emblazoned in sequins.   Each one clutched a tiny purse.  “But” they remonstrated, with genuine sincerity, “we are in a hurry.”

Celebrating Difference

It is an indescribable pleasure being greeted by the smiles of my baby.  It happens in the morning when she wakes and when I get home, in fact whenever I surprise her by reappearing in her world.  Some might argue that she also smiles at her fluffy blue elephant with a purple trunk and rattling wheels for feet but I know, I know, that it’s different.

For shore

Forty-five minutes in and I’m sitting in a queue to leave the motorway: during the wait, a military transport plane disgorges three lots of seven paratroopers from one thousand feet.  They land in the airfield adjacent to the road.  In combat, they jump from four hundred.  I still think four thousand is too low for my parachute opening and my peace of mind.

One hour: I follow a bloody diagonal smear on the road for a hundred metres before seeing the carcass of a deer slumped near the central reservation.  Amazingly it’s head looks undamaged and its dead doey eyes stare unblinking at the traffic.

One hour and fifty three minutes: the odometer ticks to 130,000 miles, reducing the value of my worthless car still further.  But it keeps on going untroubled.

Two hours fifty minutes: almost diverted by an interesting sign.  Immediately regret not being.

Three hours and fifteen minutes:  arrive to cloudless skies. 

Three hours, thirty: The sound of gently crashing waves on pebble beach, the caw-cawing of gigantic seagulls and the shouts of children playing where the water meets the shore is just about audible from the sauna-like room of our business meeting.

Fairy Proud

I bought the dress before she was born with no particular purpose in mind.  It was perfect for today: our little celebration of her safe coming.  I was immeasurably proud of my little girl in her little fairy frills. 

Spotted

I think I’ve seen that one before.  I looked for the name.  “John Tracy.”  I had.  And the one behind.  Do their numbers all start ‘666?’  And then I saw the Them.  Clumps of men at the ends of platforms with cameras, notebooks and a shared passion for something generally regarded as inconceivably dull.  They’d seen me looking.  And there was a glint of recognition in their eye and an imperceptible nod.  They think I one of them.  I've been spotted.  Shoot me now.

Lolly

Who needs a gym with a sauna when there’s the Underground for a fraction of the price?  Today it reached two million degrees.  I think I saw Beelzebub sucking a lolly at the end of one carriage.  As I watched sweat drip from my nose, I noticed not one but two prams complete with toddlers crammed into the inferno.  And the children looking for all the world as though this was simply just another adventure.

Water Nymph

It’s been another scorching day.  Too hot for her to go outside but she’s been good, bless her.  Now in the accumulated heat of the day it’s too uncomfortable for her.  But her bath provides a blissful respite.  And she giggles with adorable delight.  I can’t express how utterly enchanting this is.  Such a remarkable effect and such a tonic in a complicated world.

Passing

I’m stunned.  A close family friend has died.  Died but no-one says “dead” do they?  Passed Away.  She wasn’t old.  At least she wasn’t Dying Age.  Then my concept of age is growing more confused the older I am.  Things don’t fit into the neat categories of youth anymore.  She wasn’t old like Grandad.  That hurt because I would miss him, not because it wasn’t fair or that he’d been married for so long.  But she’s gone.  Three weeks since an emergency operation to remove an “infection,” released but a heart attack and readmission later and she’s gone.  Body overwhelmed by the stress of trying to cope.  It buckled and collapsed under the pressure.  But it’s her husband’s loss that I feel most acutely.  What happens now?  When the comforting fog of The Business has gone - what then?  God, what a crushing weight that gaping hole must be.  And, pathetically, I regret her not seeing Baby; not having had them visit more; not having popped in when we were passing nearby.  It’s so easy to be careless in life and how terrible to be reminded this way.  I had to wipe my tears from Baby’s face.

No Rhyme or Reason

It’s so hard when she won’t settle. When she won’t sleep because she’s crying.  When she’s crying because she’s tired.  When she’s tired because she won’t sleep.  And you can’t reason with her.  Even when the solution is really really obvious.  And you can’t leave her.  Not for long at least and if for no other reason than her screams are impossible to ignore and television volume won’t turn up any more.  It’s not like a faulty car and the radio-induced oblivion. It’s exhausting to the point of fury.  But getting cross and shouting doesn’t help.  All it does is induce guilt to accompany the stress: she is afterall just a little baby - how else is she’s going to tell us she’s unhappy.  I wish she was always happy.  We would be too.

Pet Test

‘It got better when she passed the Pet Test’ was the encouragement. 
“What?  You mean when it’s safe to leave her around the cat?”
‘Nope, when she's more intelligent.’