My Mojo and Other Animals
I think I’ve found my mojo again, which is nice, isn’t it? It’s always a worry when you lose it, in case you can’t find it again, like a hamster disappearing under the floorboards. I remember cleaning out my hamster once (and it could only have been the once because normally I’d plead insanity or a year’s supply of homework when the cage got a bit whiffy until Dad caved in and did it), anyway, I thought I’d put the hamster in its playpod thingy, but when I turned round it was crouched next to me, watching me and I had to risk several fingers trying to catch it again.
My friend, Susan’s, hamster staged a much more spectacular escape (but then it would because Susan led the technicolour, soundaround version of my life). Whereas my hamster was so dull I can’t even remember what it was called, Susan had a gorgeous, creamy-orange bundle of fluffy loveliness called Peachy. Because Peachy was so cute, Susan couldn’t bear to parted from her and when the family went to Longleat, Peachy went too, which was all fine and dandy until half-way round the lion enclosure when they realised Peachy’s cage was empty. Fortunately Peachy wasn’t snarfed up by a lion, although Susan’s family nearly got eaten when Susan tried to make them get out the car to look for her.
Susan and I were friends mainly because we walked to school together. I lived in a then deeply unfashionable Victorian semi and Susan’s family had a swanky new house on the swish estate up the road, leaving me with a nagging suspicion that Susan was leading a far more glamorous life than me. One day, when I had only just stopped drawing pictures of myself on horseback, winning rosettes at gymkhanas, Susan and I were crossing the road on the way to school and, as she turned her head, I saw the biggest lovebite I have ever seen on Susan's butter-wouldn't-melt neck – confirmation of Susan’s secret, sophisticated life. Mind you, I did get my own back a few weeks later when Susan developed a massive cold sore and I told her it was probably the first sign of syphilis from her lovebite, causing the poor girl many sleepless nights.
Anyway, the mojo’s returned because my training for the Llanelli half-marathon is going really well at the moment (famous last words). After a slow start it’s all fallen into place. Last Sunday I had one of those magic long runs when the weather was perfect, I felt good, switched off and flew round. That’ll probably mean that I’ll be utterly crap in a couple of week’s time. Hotel H is busy this week so not a huge amount to report on the writing front except that I’ve now got 22 lines of poetry for my next TMA. Only another 18 to go.
Painting is ‘Craig Cau and the Lake’ (where we are heading tomorrow) by Tom Tomos