Well, there’s Term 5 finished at school. I’m a little stunned that Bryan’s been at his secondary school for nearly two years now. I remember going to the open days, and it feels like almost no time has passed; I had no idea time could be so elastic when you’re a parent.
Now that the term is over, Bryan and I are heading up to London for a few days, for a change of scenery and to do a few activities. I’m looking forward to some quality time with my ever-growing son (you’ll have to ask him how he feels about that). His calendar is busy on a normal week, with school, dance lessons, and whatever else is going on during the week, and I support him doing all of this with a glad heart. But it’s going to be nice to have some time with him doing a few touristy things in London and then spending the second half of the week relaxing at home.
Half terms where I don’t have to work are the best sort for me. It’s nice to slow down a bit, even if the first few days are going to be busy. It’s finding that balance between being busy and having fun things to do and just being slow and relaxed at home. I might not always get it right, but it’s lovely to experience things through my son’s eyes.
I’ve now finished my university course until October, which feels like an awfully long time away. I’d happily go back next week for another module, but the diary team at the university don’t seem to listen to me for some reason.
I’ve also received my final grade for the poetry module at university, and got 52%. That was me scraping a pass, but I had worried I might not even pass, given my lack of ability when it comes to the subject. It’s not that I actively dislike it, but I don’t feel passionately in favour of it – unlike short stories or longer fiction, which I adore. My lecturer was actually very fair with my submission. She gave me some positive feedback, and areas where I could have done better – and, as I read through my work again, I realised that she was right.
But one poem in particular I was rather proud of, and I’m going to share it with you (you lucky things). I wrote it in about five minutes, having previously read something about a mayfly – that’s significant, as you’ll see from the first line.
Consider the mayfly.
Well, go on then; consider it.
They are ancient. Bloody ancient.
And their children are called naiads or nymphs.
Nymphs – the mythological beings – live in mountains or forests or water.
They’re always female.
Which makes me wonder where baby nymphs come from.
But I’m digressing.
I digress a lot. I’m always being distracted.
There’s a lot to be distracted about.
I’ve just cleaned the bathroom for one,
And that’s enough to make your mind wander.
But perhaps I’m just putting off the inevitable.
My coursework deadline is getting ever nearer.
So I need to try and write some poetry.
Oh wait. I just have. Apparently.
A sonnet from Shakespeare it isn’t, but I’m quite happy to enjoy my limited skills when I get to create something that makes me smile. It even made Bryan smile, which made me feel even better about it; if my son likes my work, then I’m a happy man.
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