Mixed messages

I grew up in an environment that valued music and yet it wasn’t a home that played a lot.

I did however start learning the piano as a child. On the plus side, I got to miss French but on the minus, then I was rubbish at piano and French.

Years ago at my parents’ I found an old piano report in which my teacher had written: “Jenny seems to have problems sending messages from her brain to her fingers.”

It’s so true. I do.

Once I was cycling across Cookham Bridge after a long bike ride, I meant to call out to Husband to say we shouldn’t be cycling on the pavement but what I actually did was pull my brake! We weren’t going very fast but I still went flying into my handlebars while, in oblivion, my family continued on (illegally) over the bridge.

Another time, just after I’d met Husband’s family and was still trying to make a good impression, I was making coffee. I picked up the kettle and poured it into the jar of coffee and not the cups.

Sometimes these days if I’m returning to my office with a cup of tea, I might pick up something of the children’s from the dining room table to put in their room. I stand at their bedroom door and fling the item onto the child’s bed; but what if, one day, I fling my cup of tea instead?

Needing nostalgia

I am in need of nostalgia.

Yesterday Son, Daughter and I went to lunch at the Londoner, where we reminisced about this holiday.

In the summer of 2004 we went on a cycling holiday to Suffolk under the illusion that Suffolk was flat. I think it may be flat in a car, but it's most certainly not flat on bicycles. We had the best time.

We cycled between 20 and 30 miles a day, and Daughter (that little shrimp on the left) was only eight!