I have just got home from a totally brilliant weekend spent with Reidski. There is loads I want to say about the past few days, and no doubt there is loads I shall say about the past few days but first a word on what it is like being a mother.
On my way back I stopped at Scratchwood services in need of a 'comfort break.' They have just done up their loos there incidentally - very nice facilities indeed. So anyway, I am having a wee when my phone rings. It is 15 year old son. I answer in hushed tones, not really wanting all the other women to overhear me having a chat on the phone whilst on the toilet. "Someone has moved George's jumper!" he announces. "Pardon?" says I. "SOMEONE has moved George's jumper!" "Dearest number 2 son, what the fuck are you talking about?" So the explanation such as it is goes that on Friday he brought home from school by mistake the jumper belonging to his mate George, and George took his home. His has been washed and pressed by George's mum. George's had been 'moved' and had been washed and pressed by no one.So he rings me, who has not been in the house since Friday morning and who had no idea he had brought back George's jumper by mistake, but I am nevertheless expected to be able to solve the mystery of who moved George's jumper, whilst sitting on the loo at a motorway service station.
We mum's can often work miracles but I had to point out to him that there were limits to even my magical powers and could I suggest he bloody well looked rather harder than I suspected he had looked so far to find George's missing jumper.
Consideration - Should a poem need explanation? Perhaps we really do "murder to dissect". After all, a poem isn't an extract from a washing machine manual. It isn't a fina...
20 hours ago