Too Much Mars!

He came out of playgroup as full o’ beans as he went in, Tiggered all the way home, and collapsed on the sofa.

“Can I watch a film?”

“Okay, sweetie.”

A Disney (almost unavoidable), the music began, opening credits rolled and the fairytale castle appeared.

As I walked away, his little voice announced, laden with excitement:


“No, darling…



Existential Fairy Guilt

I am suffering from it.

He knocked on my door this morning, brandishing the money, chuffed to bits.

Later, I found him secreting it in his purse.

He looked up, his face suddenly twisted in anguish.

“You’re not the tooth fairy, are you Mummy?”

His gaze full of doubt and hope; my heart was too large for its skin.

Non Sequiturs

We were having quite a serious chat, as I recall, me and Bert. About playgroup and friends and Lego Star Wars.

You know the kind of thing. Or maybe you don’t. There is, after all, only one Bert.

He ended our conversation thus:

“And if I drink the potion…”

(Whatever next?)

“… I’ll grow boom-booms.”

There’s no coming back from that.

Unanswerable Questions

The auction house on Thursday afternoon. Some time after school.

Filing through a narrow passageway between piles of jumbled furniture, our family crocodile must have seemed to go on forever.

Son after son after son squeezed through.

Smiling benignly, a silver-haired lady, rather well-to-do in appearance, was moved to ask as I wheeled the pushchair by:

“Did you want boys?”


I give up. Not defeated, you understand, just out of avenues.

I have approached from every perspective I can muster, contorted inwards, outwards, twisted upon myself, to try to see me from your angle.

But it escapes me, eludes, evades, flees.

I do not recognise the person you see in my mirror.

My reflection gazes back, baffled.

Who is she?