endings

I'm not very good at these. I usually find that everyone else is having a party and I'm just feeling a bit low. Today, the end of term, was different. I was rather glad to have missed the party, which was bizarrely raucous, by some accounts. More than that I was quite happy sitting chatting. I think it was that for once I did not feel that anyone ought to like me. I never actually thought that you understand, but I think that's how I acted. As if somehow it was someone else's fault that I was not joining in. But how much sense does that make? Not much, I reckon. Pride finds its way into the oddest corners of our lives doesn't it...

run and become...

I made the rash decision to run the school Relay today. That's about 2.6 km, which takes the quickest boys about 9 minutes, and the slow and unfit adults anything up to 15 minutes. Anyway, I decided to run it because it would be good for me. Good for me that is to go round really slowly and be passed by everyone. At one point this midget (or possibly young pupil) shot passed me, like he was a rabbit being chased by a grey hound. It was all very humbling...which seemed to be the point. Do it, do it to your best exactly because you're really bad at it and then all that ego that wants somehow to believe that you could have been a contender is simply drowned out by a huge wave of reality. I recommend it. (oh, except don't write a blog about it afterwards because then you may feel smug.)

fun, fun, fun

Caleb and I have a game. It's called 'Food'. I chase him around pretending to eat his toes, but never quite catching him, while he runs away giggling. We have rhyme which goes with it:

I like toes for breakfast
I like toes for tea
I like toes for supper
So bring those toes here to me

Toes go nicely with sausages
Toes go well with chips
And when I taste that crunch in my cornflakes
I know I'm eating your tips

Well, it's pretty mediocre poetry, but he loves it and so do I...