Spent the day with my laptop in Dulwich park. Before I go on, what's the point of the 'w' if it's not going to be pronounced? It's Dull-itch, apparently. Not Dul-witch. I live in the London borough of Southwark (Suth-ick). And so on throughout the country - Berwick is Bare-rick. And yet sandwich is sand-witch, though the Scots seem to say sang-witch.
Anyway, beautiful day, about 80 degrees, sunny. Not a cloud in the sky. And there I was with my damn laptop, not kicking the ball around, eating ice cream or throwing rocks at the swans (which one young scamp was doing - must be a South London thing). I had journo work to do, my novel to write - and still do, yet here I am blogging away.
I did get this pang of, well, broodiness. I was sitting next to a family and the father was teaching four very small kids how to play cricket. It just looked so sweet and wholesome and that just seems completely unattainable for now.
Of course, after a while it went a bit pear shaped for Dad as I kept hearing things like, 'Maggie don't hit your brother with the cricket bat.' Then there was a lot of crying and carrying on and the father stopped the game and had to shut everyone up with Pringles and sandwiches. Or is it sand-itches?
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