What. A. Ride

What. A. Ride. The last few days have been exhilarating. There have been tears. I might have sworn a bit. Ok, a lot, but guess what, noone died and an awful lot of things got caught that may have gone dreadfully wrong. By me, by others, by fate. I spend a lot if time bemoaning my bad lot, and perhaps not enough time when IN crisis pondering the fact that actually stuff happens to all of us. Given what some of that stuff has been, I’ve had substantially more than my nine lives.
I’m sat in Madrid airport waiting for my delayed flight into Heathrow and barely remembering the post I banged out this morning only for it to be lost by my iPhone freezing up. It wasn’t meant to be.
I’m so excited to be heading home to my family and especially to Monkey face.
Last night, with no wifi in a questionable hotel room, I thumbed through the new books I have purchased for her yesterday from the guilty parent section of WHSmith and tried to imagine what she would make of them. One of them, Fragoline and the Midnight Dream by Clemency Pearce and Rebecca Elliott is barely discernible from and only a few letters different in title from Coraline. It’s distinctly Gaimanesque – so much so I’m uncertain whether I find it just too derivative. Hmmm…
The other book I instantly loved: Cave Baby by Julia Donaldson. We have lots of her books, but this one looks, feels and reads very differently. Cave-baby amuses herself with her own art and drawings despite the distractions of her prehistoric, grown-up world obsessed parents (insert own wryly raised eyebrow here.) What, quite frankly, is not to love? Illustrated by Emily Gravett, her pictures are gorgeous.
All we have to do now is board the British Airways flight if it ever shows up… Drums fingers.
There was a rainbow over the airport as my cab pulled up. Need I say more.


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