On the carpet

It’s the in-between week after Christmas and before New Year. Nominally these are normal non-bank-holiday weekdays. Supermarkets are open and buses are running. But there’s a nagging sense that there’s no-one really paying attention. Society in a state of suspended animation. And the absolute certainty that no-one in Cardiff is reading your emails this week.

J and K departed and Nana arrived in the afternoon. It’s still a damp post-thaw world out there, the air thickened with wet fog. Your outing of the day: a jog to the HSBC at the foot of the hill, sweating in your down jacket.

In the evening you hefted suitcases and holdalls from the corners where they were stashed. Began transferring to them the mounds of books and clothes that will move with you from this comfortable ridgetop house to the next temporary domicile. 

 

Puzzles, picture books,

plastic fruit, wooden track, chunky cars, a Gruffalo…

scattered on the carpet

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