I am such a wild child

Last night I felt like I was small again, I had pure excitement over something I bought at the supermarket.

I only went in to buy some mushrooms and a pasta sauce. My eyes like saucers when I spotted it, my smile stretched from ear to ear. I tried to ignore it at first but the further along the isles I got, the more it's pink sparkle called me. I thought about whether I would look stupid carrying it, but as I reached the end of the store, the excitement over the possibilities and lifetime of fun took over. I raced back through the isles and grabbed the one with pink and blue sparkles and proudly handed it to the cashier. One the way home, it rode with me up front and I smiled whenever I looked across - the sun catching the sparkles and sending dazzling twinkles through the interior of my car.

When I got it home I wanted to call and tell my mum, to call and ask her 'Guess what I just bought' , but instead, I put in on the floor, stepped into the middle and pulled it up to my waist. The beads in the middle created a buzz, a drum roll ready for when I let go, swinging it to one side and wiggle like crazy to keep it going.

I had 10 minutes of excitement, giggling to myself until I got a stitch.
I love my new hula hoop.

A good read

I am reading My Friend Leonard by James Frey. It is a brilliant book and I can't put it down. I was the same with his first book - A Million Little Pieces which I have read twice because it moves me and I like the way he writes - pain, fear, anger and love - just as it is. Both stories have made me cry, laugh and feel completely overwhelmed by life.
I know someone who has felt like a million little pieces which makes the read all the more special. I feel like I am part of his story.

1. The Routine

Sunday is the day Sarah dreads the most. From the moment she wakes, a agonising sense of anxiety churns her stomach and send lightening sparks through her temples. They always start the same way - with as little noise as possible. With caution, so she doesn't wake him, she slowly and carefully lifts the eiderdown and peels herself off their double bed and walks along the landing to the bathroom avoiding the creaky floorboards - she doesn't need to look at the floor to see where to step, it is like a dance routine which has been rehearsed over and over again. Sarah longs to be able to go to places where she could dance like she used to; a place where bright lights circle on shiny wooden floors and men hold their partners close as they spin together. But for now, the stained maroon, brown and gold carpet is the only place she has.

It is almost 4 hours later when he finally rolls out of bed, his heavy steps on the stairs make Sarah's heart beat hard, her list of chores has kept her busy all morning, she straightens her dress and pulls her hair back off her face just the way he likes it. His descending steps compress the air leaving a dull, imposing and suffocating atmosphere. He stands in the doorway to the kitchen; hair greasy and limp, his eyes red and bloodshot, his enormous gut hanging over his old faded tartan boxer shorts. He doesn't say anything just shuffles past to his seat at the table which has already been laid for his breakfast. His look of disdain distorts his face. Sarah plates up his fried breakfast ensuring that there is a fried egg are on each of the two fried slices, the bacon rashers and three sausages are on the opposite side of the plate to the beans and mushrooms and that the tomatoes, which have been grilled are in the centre.
He says nothing as she places his obscenely large breakfast in front of him. His tea is poured (milk in first) into his pint sized mug. The toast popping out the toaster startles Sarah and she is quick to butter (the toast must be warm) and cut into triangles - never squares, she knows never to cut his toast into square quarters again; she had been young and foolish back then - dizzily in love. She didn't know that it had to be triangles but her lesson was soon learnt; her bruises had healed quickly that first time.

Useful tips

Last night I was reading a book called 1001 Country Household Tips by Mary Rose.
The tips made me laugh and smile; some were very useful and some were not so, for example:

Get rid of fatty hips with a rolling pin. Roll over each thigh and hip for 3 mins before a bath.

I wonder if Mary Rose discovered this. I imagine people walking round with fat knees.

Also, to make use of old dressing gowns, cut at the waist, cut and pucker the sleeves, add buttons and turn into a bed vest.
I am trying to think of a circumstance where I would wear a bed vest.

There was a lot of tips on using lemons, one being that if you want to make freckles fade you should dab lemon juice on them for a week I have a ginger friend - I think I might have some fun and try this out.

Neighbourhood Watch

My neighbour is called Les and he is shy.
He always mentions the weather when I see him through the honeysuckle which divides our gardens. He has a bald patch on his head which he feels and scratches whilst we talk.
Les lives on his own, I don't know if he has ever been married or whether he has children; I never see any visitors.
I think Les is a creature of habit. In the five years I have lived next to him, he has always worn the same bright sky blue polo shirt and blue denim jeans. He hangs his washing in the conservatory (which I can see from the bottom of my garden) and sometimes there are up to five bright sky blue polo shirts on the line. I wondered if he has a special shop from which he buys his clothes, I wonder if he buys in bulk.
At weekends he is always in his garage 'making stuff'. I think he likes steam engines.
He waters his garden at the same time each evening.
I want to know more about Les - what he eats for his dinner, what programmes he watches, who is he really?

You

You are in my house and I feel uncomfortable
I am not there, but you are
You are walking through rooms where we used to laugh
Are memories of our love, laughter in our first home flooding your thoughts?

You look into my bedroom
It was once our room
Where we slept, talked and held each other
Are memories of our love-making, nakedness and my touch reminding you of a desire?

You are in my bathroom
It isn't clean and tidy to your standard
The toilet that you fitted is broken
Are memories of your hard work and DIY filling you with a sense of lost achievement?

You are in my kitchen
The pin-board holds no notes or lists from you, no memoirs of days out
The calendar displays peoples names and events that you do not recognise
Are memories of the fun we used to have, how we were best friends evoking loss and regret?

Plan update

Last night I touched a dead slow worm in my mum's garden.
I am half-way there.