You had me at first click – Part Two

From that sunny July afternoon onwards Johnny and Jenny were the best of friends. Despite her pretty frocks and delicate-as-porcelain demeanour Johnny was delighted to find Jenny was, in fact, a tomboy at heart. When her mother was out of sight she liked nothing more than kicking off her patent shoes, yanking the bow from her hair and rolling up her sleeves so she could get stuck into climbing trees, making dens or whatever other pursuits their limitless imaginations could conjure up.

People joked that they were joined at the hip, a phrase Johnny found particularly distasteful in light of Auntie Pauline’s hip replacement operation, which had seen her incarcerated in the hospital for several weeks not long after the street party where they had first met (and which he fully disputed having played any part in instigating despite compelling evidence to suggest he’d laid a number of Tonka toy cars in her path when she had come to visit).

Some people even suggested Johnny and Jenny would marry, but as every eight year old boy finds such talk abhorrent Johnny would scrunch up his face, pinch his fingers over his nose and exclaim loudly to everyone within earshot that he couldn’t think of anything worse than marrying a “smelly girl.” Jenny would agree that such a proposal was nothing short of preposterous (though not in quite so eloquent a turn of phrase – she was only eight after all), and the two would skip off down the road holding hands as whichever unfortunate soul who had dared to suggest their eventual marital union was left shaking their head and thinking, “shame.”

To be continued…


Writing this story reminded me of these boys who I came across whilst walking in Bali. They were having so much fun flying their kite, it was really heart warming to watch.


Past Post: Gone

Something a bit different for tonight. I’ve trawled through some of my previous writing and come across this little gem from SIX WHOLE YEARS AGO. It’s short and sweet, and could do with a bit of a re-write if I’m perfectly honest but there’s something about it I like, which is why I’ve chosen to share it with you as this week’s past post:

He left today, without warning. Not even a hint of what was to come as he kissed me goodbye at the door. He said he loved me, that he’d never leave. So what do I do now? I’m sitting at the kitchen table staring out across the fields of corn, watching as the stalks dance in the breeze to a tune that only they can hear. 

It is a beautiful day, with not a cloud in the sky – and warm too, so warm for this time of year. It’s only May and yet today could pass for July.

We were married in July, twenty glorious years ago.

I think I’ll make some coffee. Yes, that will help to make sense of things. He always used to laugh at me for saying that, but it’s true. 

My mind begins to wander. Where is he now – and who with? Is he happy? No, I can’t imagine he is happy at this moment, no matter who he’s with. The wounds will still be too fresh, as they are for me. I am not yet out of his system. Perhaps I never will be. I hope not.

I am angry – twisted and bitter and utterly inconsolable. How could he leave? We were so happy! Or were we? Could I have done more? Could I have made him stay if I’d known what was coming? Probably not.

My coffee is cold. I have no idea how long the phone has been ringing.

‘Hello?’ My voice does not sound like my own.


This will be hard, she will not understand any better than me.

‘Mum?’ she says again, anxiety creeping into her voice. ‘I got your message – what’s happened?’

My beautiful daughter. Our beautiful daughter. How can I tell you that your father has left us? That we are, to all intents and purposes, alone?

‘He’s gone,’ I say bluntly in that same alien voice.

‘Gone?’ she repeats, bewildered.

I try to explain. She says she’ll be here soon.

Now I have returned to my window vigil, willing him to return. He walked through that field not two hours ago. Before he left me. Before he left us.

He lies there still, among the glorious sprays of daffodils.

He lies there still. 


This is the most appropriate picture I could find in the archives to accompany this post, though I must confess I can’t quite remember where it was taken. I think it was most likely southern India – perhaps there are some butterfly buffs reading this who will know?!