A Pineapple Yogurt, Please

I'm standing on my bed looking out of the window. The curtain behind me is damp where I used it to wipe the condensation from the glass. After about ten minutes - an absolute age - I see the milkman turn into the close. I run downstairs and let myself out of the back door.

We are the only two people awake and working at this time of day. I help Mr James deliver milk to the whole close. He doesn't say much, in fact I don't actually remembering him agreeing to my helping him. He looks like my Grandad, in his tweed suit and pork pie hat. He comes to collect his money on a Friday. If my mum changed her order for the next week he said 'Right-ho', just like they do in the Mr. Men books.

I am in awe of the neighbours who treat themselves to gold top. My dad says skimmed milk is just water. I can't understand why anyone has it delivered, but Mrs Ford does. Just one pint. Mr Ford left her for his bit on the side. Her daughter is at university, studying economics. Mum says I can study economics O Level one day. Mrs Ford has her hair done by Vinnie, where my mum goes. I pass Vinnie the yellow and red perm rollers and the thin papers. He asks me if I'd like to be a hairdresser. He says when I'm a bit older I can have a Saturday job, sweeping up.

Some customers are better than others at cleaning their empty bottles. By the end of the close all I can smell is sour milk. Mr James pays me with a yogurt. I can chose any flavour I like. We only have strawberry flavour Ski at home, so I always choose the exotic pineapple flavour and eat it when I get home. I lick the lid last. We keep the empty pots and grow cress in them.

***

I thought of Mr James this morning, as I always do when I eat a pineapple flavour yogurt, and smiled at the memory of a kind gentleman humouring a little girl each Saturday.

A Pineapple Yogurt, Please

Smell the Coffee

This morning I opened a new jar of instant coffee. As I twisted I heard the plastic lid slowly peel away from the foil, then pop off in my hand. I carefully removed the gold seal - in one piece - and inhaled. I breathed in deeply. I adore that aroma.

I remember my Mum calling me every time she was about to open a new jar of coffee. I got to stab, then peel off the thin film of foil. I was allowed the absolute pleasure of the first sniff.

I don't recall ever opening a jar of coffee and not sticking my nose in. If Presley and Cash are in the kitchen with me they will have a sniff too, although Cash hasn't quite grasped the concept. He blows out, like a woman in labour who is panting as the baby's head crowns because she has been told not to push.

I couldn't write about smelling the coffee without considering its other meaning. You see, I had a realisation this week. I did wake up.

I've spent many evenings recently sat here, at my laptop. I have followed my virtual world closely for some time and sometimes it gets me down. So I have simply decided to spend more time in the real world. I went to my creative writing group on Monday night and had a wonderful time.

I want to spend more time writing fiction. Once the World Cup is over I would like to spend more time songwriting with my husband. I will continue to blog and focus on the positive aspects of my online life, the friends I have made and the opportunities to write, to take photographs and to laugh and cry as I read some amazing blog posts.

I am nervous about walking into Cybermummy on Saturday, but I intend to embrace the opportunity to meet the people I like, love, respect and admire. Be warned, I like to hug. I will most probably scream with delight when I see friends old and new.

Let's make the most of our time together in real life. Let's share a cup of coffee and raise a toast to friendship.

I wonder what my boys will remember from their childhood, when they are older. Will they open a new jar of coffee and think of me? I hope so.





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Smell the Coffee