the morphinator

He’s nearly fifteen years old, I’ve known him all that time, he was in my belly in the beginning and now he’s in the front seat of my car. He is changing, again. His face is becoming longer, his eyebrows darker, he has a couple of blonde hairs on his chin, you can only see…

worry is like a train

There is not much I can say about parenthood that hasn’t been said. It’s busy, it’s a caper, it’s thankless, a coalface, a joy. It’s nothing you can understand until you’ve done it. And you can get all the worry you want. I’ve come to think of worry as a steaming train that turns up…