Stiff upper lip on the bus this morning. The little one says she feels ill and the next minute throws up down the front of my shirt. Unfortunately, a flick of it hits the back of the guy’s head sitting in front of us. Not sure if he notices he’s got some vomit detritus in his hair but just stares straight ahead without flinching. Very British! The little one douses me a couple of more times before we get off. She nods off in the buggy and I have to wheel us five miles home in a puke soaked shirt at 10am in the morning. Must have been a hell of a night.

 

Crabs and creatures like them all belong to a family of crushed Asians.

If it is less than 90 degrees it is a cute angel.

Sir Walter Raleigh circumcised the world in a big clipper.

Then Joan of Ark met her fate. She was burned as a steak.

One of the most important farces is the farce that pulls things to the ground. This farce is called gravy

(from Spelling Slips and Homework Howlers  by Richard Benson)

 

Your children are not your children.

They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.

They come through you but not from you,

And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts.

For they have their own thoughts.

You may house their bodies but not their souls,

For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.

You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.

For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.

The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.

Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;

For even as he loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.

Khalil Gibran, poet

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