February 18, 2021

I write everyday, even on days when I have nothing to say. Which lately, is often. I figure the daily exercise will come in handy when I do have something say. Some days, all I can muster is a sentence or two about a kettle or a chair, or the Rowntree’s jelly cubes I used to eat straight out of the packet on the school bus. Even the bus driver looked at me oddly when I’d bring them out of my lunchbox. I think he asked me to put them away once lest my sticky fingers ruined his moquette upholstered seats. “But your hair will shine,” my Mum used to say when I’d tell her about the peculiar looks. It’s funny what we remember. And what we write about. When we have nothing to say.


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