Sunday: out on the windblown trails for 40 mins in the morning in search of dropped spectacles. Clusters of green shoots thrusting through the soil like bristles. Some showing their colours: white snowdrops, crocuses budding purple. 

Another long walk, to a B&Q on the dual-carriageway outskirts of the city. Bang some bars onto the window in the kids’ bedroom.  

See Nana off at the central bus station and then another long walk, this time with didi on your shoulders. Bute Park from the Castle along the river and out through Pontcanna Fields. He’s in great form: bantering in a tiny voice, quizzing you on every sight (what’s that, daddy?) and every action (what you doing, daddy?).

Some creature in the night had clawed open a rubbish bag outside the kitchen door. As you lifted it from the bin to examine the gashes a pair of reading spectacles appeared on the cement at your feet. Happy reunion!


In the racing current

ducks spin downstream

like it’s no big deal

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