Bowie: Soundtrack of My Life.

Ground control to Major Tom.

I didn’t think about the words.

I played with My Little Pony toys,

Jem dolls.

Action Man seduced Sindy,

Under the covers and in the bathtub.

Put on your red shoes and dance the blues.

My first pair of high heels:

Poppy-coloured with a large bow.

I liked the clickety-clack sound

They made on the pavement.

I still do; a life-long love affair.

Rebel Rebel, your face is a mess.

Sixteen. I thought I knew everything.

I knew nothing.

Stranded in seedy nightclubs.

The floor would spin.

Where was my purse?

All we need is music, sweet music.

And we made our own.

I listened to the words

As we wrote our own song

And fell in love;

Head over scarlet heels.

Nothing’s gonna touch you in these golden years.

Motherhood calling.

Confidence rising.

Sleepless nights and milky smiles.

A love and bond so strong,

My heart could burst.

Time may change me. But I can’t trace time.

Children growing, learning, blossoming.

Pride and contentment.

I think I have found myself,

Nestled within the scribbled pages

Of my own written words.

Post-Christmas Blues

Dear Christmas Holiday,

It is with a heavy heart that I write this farewell letter. You have been good to me and I will never forget your kindness. Thank you for allowing me to switch of that absolute bastard of an alarm clock for an entire seventeen, most precious days. The lack of the battle of the snooze button has been a real treat.

Not having to do the school run, wash uniforms and PE kits, sort lunches, sign relentless permission slips and remember to pay for a vast array of school-related things has been a true blessing. Not having to be Mrs Bad Cop and remind / force children to do their tedious homework has also been a key delight.

Oh, Christmas holiday, how I had yearned for you. How happy I was to see you. But, alas, I now must say goodbye, and that sucks.

I’m not ready. I’m not prepared to take down my pretty Christmas tree and see the living room look so plain and dull. I’m not ready to stop eating Ferrero Rocher for breakfast, and be back at work, so far away from my fridge. My fridge. Somehow, it still contains all the cheese in the world. I can’t remember the last time that I walked by said fridge without nibbling on some calorific snack or other.

And the booze. Oh, how I have enjoyed the booze. The extra glass or three of wine that I would never be able to handle or justify on a school night. And when the wine got an upgrade and became a rum. Because, who cared? It was the beloved Christmas holiday. I’m holding back the tears as I consider the fact that I must face reality again in the morning. I will greet it with a string of highly-creative expletives, two raised fingers and a face so mardy that Grumpy Cat will fret that her career is over.

I will pine for my fluffy dressing gown. We have spent so many wonderful days and nights together, sat on the sofa, doing fuck all. And it has been magnificent.

Until we meet again.

I love you.

Hugs and kisses,

Laura.