“I’ll be up in a minute to tuck you in!”
In which we road trip and there are too many characters: the Cub, Badger, Bunny, Bunky, Powerjam, brother, sister, as yet un-nicknamed cousin, Nakiska, Flipper and friends. And, unsurprisingly, too much drinking.
At one point the Kangaroo brings chocolate strudel — which the doctor bans. It’s the thought that counts I suppose …but I bloody well wanted that strudel.
After two days of skiing, it’s easier to name the parts of me that don’t hurt. My fingers. My forearms. My neck.
I’ll give you a clue. In grade one, she taught me how to make really good, firm, round mudballs. Another? In grade 5, she and I surreptitiously looked up the mysterious F-word we’d heard on the playground in my children’s dictionary (no joy). We’ve unwittingly matched our outfits many times in the 28 years we’ve been friends — we shared a love for denim overalls. We’ve been netball team co-founders, pen-pals, joint amateur theatre producers at the tender age of 10. Still no?
Lots of new things: snow on the ground, Twickenham and the trickiness of making new friends.
The smell of burned toast and wet food scraps in the sink always reminds me of my time living in Canada.