unfortunately not this Pooh!
Poo... you know... that kind.
'Linda's being a good girl quietly playing upstairs in her cot'...
Oh no she's not...
she's doing a bit of redecoration.
This was in the days before ragging & sponging of walls.
Her medium of choice...
Not Farrow and Ball's Mouse Back brown emulsion, nor yet egg tempura;
but a colour charted kaleidoscope of
dinny, brekkie and tea.
***
On a coach trip around the Isle of Wight
we stopped for morning coffee.
'Mummy I need the loo!'
My father watched as we walked away
transfixed by the small round lump in the back of my shorts,
that wiggled as I walked.
***
Gardening has always been a pleasure of mine.
My parents just couldn't work out how I went out to play
in a sweet summer dress and invariably returned
knicker-less.
Scratching their heads they could never get to the bottom
of this conundrum.
Until one day my father decided to discover the problem
of the blocked rain water tank.
Soggy, pooey knickers that's what!
Far too busy playing and having fun to answer the call of nature.
I came up with a cunning plan; standing on tip-toes I reached up, carefully lifting the lid of the galvanised tank and plopped in, the offending items.
Seemed to make perfect sense to me...
Why waste quality time having to come in for a poo?
Let's face it, it is one of life's bores.
“If the person you are talking to doesn't appear to be listening, be patient.
It may simply be that he has a small piece of fluff in his ear.”
Winnie the Pooh.
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