Cambridge Circus

I’ve polished my table so now it has a good shine and my room smells of carnauba wax, beeswax and essential oils.
I’ve thrown away loads of paper and detritus that has accumulated, I’m ready for work. For the last two weeks I have been writing in the garden, consequently I have very bronzed shoulders and a lot of catching up to do.
The Cambridge baby has been an interesting diversion. Most of the TV stations are repeating themselves endlessly with oleaginous superlatives not to mention sycophantic blather whilst throwing cliches at us like squashed tomatoes in a side street at a Spanish Festival.
Good that Kate and Wills and the baby are fine, but what could possibly bring somebody out onto the streets from Hackney to stand around and cheer a newborn, with a plastic flag and a straw hat costing more than a KFC bargain bucket and why do the reporters think I’m the least bit interested in listening to that said Hacknoid talking drivel that Kay Burley and the likes of her, have made them learn……
I wonder why the wait though?
I’m guessing Kate didn’t just pop him out.
Or maybe they had to Caesar him out.
Or suck him out, or even use the forceps.
I can’t imagine Kate needs to stay in for the rest as she’ll have half of Bucklebury, half of Buck House not to mention half the Norland nannies nipping out of the woodwork for her.
I spent ten days in my maternity unit. The daughter was treated like Beyonce’s baba Ivy, whilst Gods Gift made doors for the attic and I slept a bit, cried a bit, fed a lot and mused on what the chuffin’ hell I had just landed myself into.
26 years down the line I’ve just come to terms with the responsibility…..

This morning I went for my vigorous exercise in the sweet smelling air. The rain had done the trick, although we could do with a bit more, and judging from my heavy head and grey clouds we’re going to get some precipitation soon.
The eucalyptus trees were wafting out a delicious smell of – well eucalyptus – whilst the peppery smell of the hedgerows clung in the air.
All was quiet apart from the warbling and chirruping, whistling and skreiking of the birds.
My foot fall through the long grass sssssshuffled and sssshooffled.
Two ramblers passed me, then their three jovial companions came round the bend, the grinning woman in the hat, rucksack, binoculars, glasses on a rubber band round her head and sensible walking boots, shouted
‘GOOD MORNING.’
The wood pigeons flew out of the trees and I jumped out of my very brown skin. Noisy walkers.
The old git went back to rehearsals in London today, the dawter is to sing at’ WOMAD’ this weekend, and I’m hanging in until I’m not.
July 28th has come round a lot quicker than I could possibly have predicted thinking about the show this week but I don’t know who’s on the show yet – whoever they are will be good.
It’s 3.20, and I need to sort out the toons for Sunday. But firstly I’m nipping downstairs to the telly to see if Baby Cambridge looks anything like his granny Di. My daughter did when she came out. Looked like her granny that is, not Princess Diana. Jim and I screamed in unison;
‘It’s Reeeeen.’ which ain’t bad thing. They were and are both lovely.
Prince Chumly Cambridge could do a lot worse than looking like Dear Di, she had great hair, a charming smile and did wonders with mines…..
Happy Birthday Kate and Wills.
Peace on earth and Goodwill to all men/women and children everywhere.