Once upon a time Ms Egg met Mr Tadpole. Mr Tadpole liked Ms Egg. Ms Egg liked Mr Tadpole. Feeling brave Mr Tadpole approached Ms Egg. ‘Hi’ “Hi” ‘Wow I haven’t seen anything as lovely as you before’ “No, Oh, I’m new here” ‘I’ve just been forcibly ejected out of my old place and now I’m trying to find somewhere new to live’ “You’re cute. I know, why don’t you join me in here. Come on, we can start a new life together!”
On the Sunday after her funeral I went to church. After the service I cried. I cried and cried. ‘Oh dear, it’s for the best she had cancer’ ” Your poor Mum, but she’s not in pain anymore”. No, No, No. Re-wind. I was crying because I’d seen the smoke from the crematorium chimney. I’d watched as it thinned and slowly disappeared. She disappeared. As the smoke disappeared the baby in the cupboard drawer, the 2 year old opposite the garage in Bath, the 5 year old child who rocked and wet his bed at night through fear, who sucked his thumb for comfort and pulled his eyebrows and eyelashes out because that pain was bearable, the 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 and 11 year old youngster who was ‘dirty’ and had to be ‘cleaned’ inside and out, who knew every inch of a female body through ‘cleaning’ it, the 11 year old who continuously threw a blue plastic ball against his bedroom wall headed it onto another and caught it and threw it again and again and again, the only just 11 year old boy who had to buy his own long school trousers because his ‘Mother’ said he must wear shorts, watched with a smile on his face. She was gone……. but?