Another epic journey, including an extremely uncomfortable overnight stay on a bench in JFK airport, and now I'm back in Mexico. A few days ago I was out on chilly, grey Ilkley Moor. Today I'm in 85-degree heat and sunshine. My body doesn't know what's hit it.
My body may be finding it hard to keep up, but so is my luggage. Somewhere between Heathrow, JFK, Houston and Manzanillo it went astray. It contains most of the clothes I own, plus various computer leads, documents, and my heart rate monitor. Let's hope it turns up.
And speaking of things lost in transit... Sedna may at last have turned up safely in Miami, but she's costing me a fortune. My outstanding bill for storage, unloading, clearing customs, etc., currently stands at $2000 and it's going up at the rate of $120 a day, even when that day is a bank holiday and nothing can be done to get her moved. Ouch!
You will be relieved to hear that this is the last in my series of festive juvenilia. By Rosalind Savage, aged 7 and 11/12.
[I leave today to return to Mexico. Another 40+ hour journey awaits me, assuming that Heathrow Airport has been released from the death-grip of fog by the time I get there.]
It's Christmas day. Hurray, Hurray!
Under the Christmas tree in bright array,
Are presents for you and me.
Oranges and pears,
Nice teddy bears,
All for you and me.
A big dolls house,
A clockwork mouse,
All for you and me.
Now Christmas day has gone away,
Just as I had feared.
No more decorations and games
But I don't mind because
There's another Christmas next year!
The next in my series of unfeasibly awful poetry, written by Rosalind Savage, aged 7 and 3/4.
I woke up one morning feeling excited,
But I couldn't recall why I felt as delighted,
And then I remembered, it's Christmas Day!
We are going to have a party with games to play.
I looked at my stocking, it was filled to popping,
With lots of parcels and a pogo-stick for hopping.
I rushed downstairs, and saw the tree,
Underneath it were lots more presents for me.
Last night Mum and I were digging through old family photos because the YTV team wanted to include them in the documentary. We came across some achingly bad poems I wrote when I was about seven. I reproduce one below for your excruciation. Note totally random reference to a cow in the last line. I don't know, so don't ask.
And by the way, it's my birthday today. I'm 39, so I guess this is the last birthday I will ever own up to. I will now be 39 forever.
I'm doing Christmas shopping,
My bags nearly popping.
Theres so many things to choose,
It really gets me quite confused.
I think I'll get some learning letters
No a farm set would be better.
I think I'll go and see the lights,
They really will be a delight.
I've got all the presents now,
So I think I'll go home, to feed the cow!