This month it’s my birthday, it’s my birthday, it’s my birthday. Sorry? What was that? How old am I? Well? Umm. Ssssssshhhhhhh. I am now forty! Yep. Seriously.
J played football with Ronaldo and Messi last week. I know, quite amazing that two of the best footballers in the world were training, together, in deepest Somerset just before the start of the new season. What’s that? You don’t believe me? Oh. OK. I admit it, maybe the footballing legends weren’t actually there in person. Yes, alright, it was just a couple of kids (half the group) wearing replica shirts, but it did amuse me. It also got me thinking.
I can’t remember the last time we had a family holiday for longer than a long weekend; Steve’s job always requires him to work during the summer holiday period. Usually we (the children and I) cobble together a few long weekends with Daddy, then lots of day trips and time exploring and making the most of our local area. However it never quite leaves you refreshed or raring to go when we hit September and it’s back to school. What with all the changes that have happened to in the Life of Ryrie over the past couple of years we could really do with ten days of doing nothing other than debate whether to go to the beach or which swimming pool we should frequent. Alas it was not to be this summer.
Knock. knock… knock.
The sound of a leather ball hitting the middle of a willow bat is, for me, the auditory equivalent of the smell of a bare hospital corridor carrying the aroma of antiseptic. Both have the power to take me back in time, though to very different episodes in the Life of Ryrie. Cricket, and hospital corridors, was as much part of my childhood summers as the paddling pool and my birthday were.