Wake up call

A conversation with my mother, this morning, reminded me that I am neglecting this blog. Neglecting to blog.

So this is a note to self: blog

I don't post stuff that isn't mine, as a rule. This is a favourite of Cheryl's and it's a piece of writing I really admire. So simple yet so elegant and evocative. So I post it here as inspiration:

My parents kept me from children who were rough - Stephen Spender

My parents kept me from children who were rough
and who threw words like stones and who wore torn clothes.
Their thighs showed through rags. They ran in the street
And climbed cliffs and stripped by the country streams.

I feared more than tigers their muscles like iron
And their jerking hands and their knees tight on my arms.
I feared the salt coarse pointing of those boys
Who copied my lisp behind me on the road.

They were lithe, they sprang out behind hedges
Like dogs to bark at our world. They threw mud
And I looked another way, pretending to smile,
I longed to forgive them, yet they never smiled.

It's been a while ...

I did some housekeeping yesterday. It's a holiday weekend and there are one or two tasks which have been lurking in the corner, gathering dust and cobwebs, while I've been doing my best to find more important things to occupy my time.

There's a company or two in my office, taking up nearly as much space as they have in my mind.

So, the records at least, are dusted off and packed away. Neatly labelled and bound with string.

It's sad. So much work, so much sweat and hope.

Consigned to storage and scrap paper.