poetsquib.com

While our oldest girl is on camp I am cleaning - no that’s the wrong word - razing her bedroom to the ground. I’ve found all sorts of things in the unmitigated chaos like a porthole to the lost world of Atlantis and the Holy Grail (those Knights Templars knew no one would find it in a teenage girl’s bedroom, clever)

I came across an English exercise book from last year in which BigSquib describes how I lost her in West Perth last year, on our way to a specialist appointment of the medical kind. This story makes the whole thing sound a LOT worse than it really was

Observe the high drama and pathos… [excerpt from the THREE page story]

‘Mum sighed and started ushering me away with her delicate hands [I like the delicate hands bit]… “See that roundabout? Well it should say Colin St. Find number 51 and go upstairs to reception and I’ll be there in a minute,” said Mum…

The path seemed to go on forever. Finally I came to a standstill, my body trembling with fear. I read the signs over and over until I let my mind accept the obvious. Colin St wasn’t there…

My heart started beating so hard and fast I thought it was going to burst like a butterfly from a cocoon… The problem was, I wasn’t OK. I didn’t know where Colin St was or where my mum was…

I heard my name. I quickly spun round, my face overfilling with hope. There she was. Mum. I almost collapsed with relief… we were reunited.’ [by BigSquib, 12]

Here’s hoping she doesn’t write her memoirs