Tuesday, 12 November 2013

Plans and poems

I love it when a plan comes together.

Blog more (I have) read more (I have) find new blogs (I have) get new readers (I have). 

And one of the new readers (the only one, actually, but still) writes one of the new blogs (sevenhundredwords), and she wrote recently about romance, and real life, and how the two don't often match up: and that happily ever after is often only the beginning.

And it reminded me of this, which I like so much I have kept on my pinboard, buried under takeaway menus, and old permission slips: last year's school calendar and money off vouchers, where I can see it...

It's by Liz Lochhead and it's called A Night In:

Darling, tonight I want to celebrate
not your birthday, no, nor mine.
It's not the anniversary of when we met,
first went to bed or got married, and the wine
is supermarket plonk.  I'm just about to grate
rat-trap cheddar on the veggie bake that'll do us fine.

But it's far from the feast that - knowing you'll be soon
and suddenly so glad to just be me and here,
now, in our bright kitchen - I wish I'd stopped and gone
and shopped for, planned and savoured earlier.
Come home! It's been a long day.  Now the perfect moon 
through our high window rises round and clear. 


  1. love the poem - it was worth the wait! and thank you for the mention. hope your search for new blogs is going well!

    1. Not very - but that's not your fault! Glad to have found yours!

  2. Darling, tonight I want to celebrate
    not your birthday, no, nor mine.
    But you have to work most evenings
    So you're never here.
    Anyway, the children are so grown-up now
    That we don't get that beautiful 7.30 moment,
    Baths done, stories read, foreheads kissed, wine poured.
    Not ever.
    No point making even a rat-trap cheddar-topped veggie bake for the two of us.

    If you do come home, the space and time isn't ours -
    Only if we share "Have I Got News For You" with our grown offspring,
    And steal a little smile at the thought of how they share our adult humour.
    Irritating, the interruptions to explain the political jokes, but worth it in the long run.
    They are the "stories read", in this late chapter of their childhoods, and they'll do. No forehead kissing now.

    This week, it IS my birthday, and you're taking me out.
    You've told me to dress up.
    I won't be choosing veggie bake off the menu!

    1. Was it? Where did you go? Did you write him a poem too!

      So delighted by this - sorry it took me so long to reply. We were down south...

  3. The Witchery! And I def didn't have veggie bake. Salmon, actually.


I know. I'm sorry. I hate these word recognition, are you a robot, guff things too, but having just got rid of a large number of ungrammatical and poorly spelt adverts for all sorts of things I don't want, and especially don't want on my blog, I'm hoping that this will mean that only lovely people, of the actually a person variety, will comment.

So please do. Comments are great...