Remember my not so beloved conclusions?
They are coming thick and fast. If, mostly, they weren’t so amusing I’d hate them.
An apple a day keeps the dentist away. But what keeps conclusions away? They don’t erode your teeth. They erode your sanity. Your mental health. Your equilibrium. Making you wish you were the age I perpetually am. Five. When life was simple. You had a grandmother the centre of your world, a grandfather so sweet so kind so everything, lots of uncles who allowed me to plait their hair after returning from a hard day’s graft. Red ribbons no less.
And now? Apart from most the players having passed their ‘live by’ date I am left with conclusions. I sincerely hope that not all of them are valid. Some might turn out to be early miscarriages (barely noticed), some still born on conception. But some, boy oh boy, have kicked into life. The more mellow among you will call it wisdom. All that you have accumulated along the way. Don’t believe a word of it. I want to be FIVE. Who needs wisdom? You need wisdom at the BEGINNING of life. Not the end.
Other than that I feel like one of John’s hens (currently decimated by badgers). Hope springs eternal. No more than when you sit on an egg. Or come to yet another conclusion.
Hugs and hisses,