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To be young

On the hot summer day
almost 40 years ago I sat
in a wooden box with my
feet in the cool mud,
the white wall reflecting
the sun all around me,
Mother telling me to get
out of the mud and put
sun screen on.
Dad is mowing away at the
bottom of the garden
bobbing up & down.
I look up to the drone and   
See planes move overhead.
Dirt swims & oozes beneath my
Toes and splashing up my legs
Soothing and gleeful.
My grandfather Looks on in
amazement and horror.

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To Where?

for Roween

Jayne found herself inexorably irritated by words that, when written down, didn’t offer a clear indication of how they should be pronounced. Sometimes, she simply read a word so wrongly, it bore no resemblance to its meaning.

Her friend, Cinnamon, never stopped ribbing her for mispronouncing the name of a famous painting.

“How can you get ‘Van Gogh’ right,” she teased: “Yet be so convinced that he had a ‘ban-dagged’ ear!”

“Stop it, Cinn – anyone could have read ‘bandaged’ that way.”

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Trouble to Change

A Dedication to the Suffragettes

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On the kitchen top the old kettle rumbled, rising to its crescendo, the finale a desultory click.

Routine made the whole operation easy; in no time she was settled beside the living room window, chair angled to watch life outside. Most of her neighbours had left for work, there wasn’t much to see, or hear. The only constant companion, nature’s changing wallpaper. She often felt she was the street’s security guard, keeping an eye on any comings and goings. Not today though.

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Turning into trouble

I must have been six years old when I realised the world did not revolve around me. I was wandering past the Massey Ferguson depot in rural Suffolk. Why was I out on my own and unsupervised next to an 'A' road? Times were different, Mum was steaming about Dad going up to Town again. I was good at slipping out of the house unnoticed and much more adventurous than she appreciated. We moved out of the big house shortly after that, the villa on Mallorca was fine but that sojourn only lasted eighteen months.

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Twice Pierced

The first time I got my nose pierced I was seventeen and had just gone away to university. One – maybe two – weeks into the experience, I wanted to do something to mark my new found freedom: having sex and not worrying about getting caught, staying out as late as I wanted to, sleeping in as long as I wanted to, eating whatever I liked, drinking as much as I wanted. My mum was appalled and for some reason it caused an enormous rift between her and my two aunts that lasted the better part of a year. I still don’t know why.

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