The sun finally dragged itself from behind the Swansea perma-cloud this weekend for a brief, glimpse of warmth before the next rainy deluge.
It was what the wildlife in our garden was waiting for. All the bugs, bees, butterflies and other pollen loving beasties made their annual pilgrimage to our flowering ivy.
Evie was the first to immerse herself in fluttering red admirals. She dipped apple slices in sugar water and stood by the ivy waiting for one of them to sample some sugary loveliness.
There are two mornings in the year that are terrible. They are so very terrible because there is nothing you can do to hide from the fact that there is school that day.
The first terrible morning is the morning after the summer holidays. Like a dark shadow cast over the summer that went on forever, the morning marks the death knell of a season of bare feet and adventures.
The second terrible morning is the morning after the Christmas holidays, the decorations look stale, the tree flops to one side and it isn’t even daylight yet.
That moment looms before you have to wake them up and bring in the morning. I’m a mum alarm clock. I try to be cheery but I think that makes it even worse.
I’ve tried matter of fact but that just makes me sound cold.
I’ve tried distraction, “oh look it’s sunny” but that deepens the despair.
It’s like ripping off a plaster, make it quick, make it over with as soon as possible.
What do you when you see a couple having an argument in public?
You say nothing, you presume it’s a disagreement that will end with a laugh or a hug.
What do you do when the man turns to face the woman and grabs her by the shoulders?
You presume he’s reassuring her and that everything will be fine and they will walk off agreeing to disagree.
What do you do when his hands shake her hard, wrenches her arms towards his, pressing his face into hers?
You yell very loudly to take his hands off her. You make sure every single
person around you turns to see this man and what he is doing. You yell so loud that your children freeze and your teenager momentarily dies of embarrassment.
The man then shouts at me that this is his wife so that makes it alright.
I yell back that wives don’t come sale or return to be abused like that and I’m still calling the police.
The woman’s eyes are as wide as saucers by now and she waves an apology to me. The pair scarper into the market place and I’m left standing with Gruff asking me very gently to release the tight grip on his hand as he’d like to feel his fingers again.
I apologise for making my children jump but I couldn’t stand by and watch that.
I also apologise to the woman, I probably made things worse for you, I’m sorry but I couldn’t stand by and watch you be shaken like that.
I am aghast.
An artist’s dog should know that there are many things you may chew but pencils, pencils are utterly unforgivable.
What were you thinking Bonnie?
Still I found a new one to draw about it tonight.