I see you, teenage child. With your swagger and secrets. Sticking your flag in new territories. Of course, I’m boring. Show me a mother who isn’t. It’s our gift. To you. A life solidified – a crash mat made of person. Ready for your ungrateful bounce.
My adorable nephew shows his colours I was at the office of a Sunday newspaper yesterday, putting in my occasional appearance as a subeditor when something odd happened. We had, as most papers do today, several spreads about the Olympics – about the closing festival high jinks, about glory and courage. So far so uplifting […]