The Storm Without*

“I’ve found some ‘Winston Churchill’ daffodil bulbs for you,” Mum says, kneeling on the decking in my garden.

“Thank you, Mum,” I say.  Who would have thought that Adulthood would consist of counting-down-the-days-till-can-see-my-parentals each week, I think.  

After Mum has planted my bulbs, she tidies my bookshelves.

“Mum, please can you help me change my bed?” I say.  “Haven’t managed it since the last time you helped me, about a month ago and…”

“Help you?” Mum says, looking sceptical, as she stuffs some magazines into a bag.

“OK, well, you can change my bed whilst I write the blog,” I say.  “Don’t look at me like that: am terminally ill.  It’s not my fault.”

“You need to change into your winter handbag,” Mum says.  “You’ll ruin that pink one.  And you can put the animals back on your bed and…”

“It’s more important for me to write the blog,” I say.  “Once I wake up, I’ll have to do all that stuff: washing my hair, getting dressed and so on.  Am meeting my writing group tonight and…”

“That’s nice,” Mum says.  “I’ll take all this with me.”  She gestures to the pile of magazines.

Anyway, had better get to sleep or won’t wake up in time to force self out of the house later in the November cold, dark and gale force winds.  The wind roars outside my window as I write this.

The attached photo is a tree who blew down last night in the storm in my road.

Happy Wednesday everyone!
*2013.  By Tony Black.  Book 1 in the Doug Michie crime novel series.


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