Being Me

If I've posted this poem of mine before, it was back in the Edwardian era when I started the blog, and those followers have died now, or got bored, or perhaps died of boredom, so here it is again. It's called Love Note, and I think you'll sense the fond feelings and affection coming through. Love note You're late - I've gone to Mother's. Your stew is in the dog. The Peugeot’s got a teeny dent. I’m never good in fog. Johnny's at the Youth Club and needs picking up at ten. Kate’s at that new boyfriend’s house. She didn't say 'til when. The washer in the kitchen tap is letting water through. The dog has chewed your slippers And your brand new ipad too. The cat’s had tummy trouble and has had some in your shed. The rabbit’s looking peaky and the hamster’s looking dead. The TV's going uh-uh-uh. I can’t work out what’s up. The dishwasher won’t open and the freezer door won’t shut. A tile slid off the r

You know when you feel like you're starring in your own sitcom? Here's what happened. Prepare to feel better about yourself. Awkward pause before story begins. I can't believe I'm telling you. A confession. For a week, I'd been on a no-carbs diet, eating lean meat and salad, salad and lean meat, lean meat, lean salad, and lean meat salad. That evening, I sat with my husband and ate lean salad and lean meat again, only he had salad, half a cow, and a pile of potatoes higher than a crack den. I tried to look happy, forking in my lettuce, but I was expecting to have lost three stone in my first week, and disappointment made me miserable. We had a meeting to go to. 'I'm going on my bike,' he said, as we washed up. 'I'll go on the bus,' I said, 'and meet you there.' We often travel independently like this, because he likes to get exercise, and I .... and I ... anyway, on with the story. 'You'll be e

I walked past a man doing his gardening this week on my way home from work. 'Good evening,' he said. 'It's getting warm, isn't it?' 'Yes,' I said. 'Nufney wedder.' I don't know why I couldn't pronounce 'Lovely weather' so that he would understand. It just didn't come out right. So, he looked at me askance as if thinking, 'If I'd known she was Dutch, I wouldn't have started a conversation.' As I walked the rest of the way home, I remembered other 'encounters in the street' that have left me red-faced. 1. Once I walked past a lady who still had her umbrella up even though it had stopped raining five minutes before. 'You know it's stopped, don't you?' I said. I thought she hadn't noticed and that I was being helpful. She snarled at me as if to say, 'I can judge that for mySELF, thank you,' and carried on down the road, with her umbrella still firmly up, like Noah, despit