rainy days and mondays

I pulled open the curtains and looked out of the window. Outside it was sunny and Friday, but in my heart it was raining and Monday because my husband was staying in London at the weekend working. He has it so easy in London, he doesn't understand how grim it is up north. A small bird came and perched on a bush in the garden and I thought, hmm, that’ll make a nice little anecdote for the blog because it shows how sensitive I am and it’s also a metaphor for my life, because I am a lonely little bird shivering in the cool night air, my cockney sparrow feathers ruffled by the north wind. I wondered if the little bird had come to our house to await my husband's arrival from London and was going to be as disappointed as I was, knowing that when I opened these curtains tomorrow I'd still just see The North outside and the sheer awfulness of it all wouldn't be blissfully blocked out by my beloved's range rover parked outside. I went to the stereo and put on my favourite CD. I love The Carpenters, not only because they come from the seventies just like my descriptions of The North and my writing style, but because any pop group with a building related name does it for me. I sighed. I couldn't be on my own all weekend. If I couldn't have my husband I would have to make do with a local for company. In desperation I picked up the phone and turned to one of the names in my list of other mothers from the school, just the other side of the road and yet in another world. Trembling, I began to dial the number. I didn't have to dial the code and I would hear the neighbour's phone ringing across the street but I knew I would still need to punch in that magic London 020 to feel I was about to phone home. Perhaps one day this would be my home, sigh, oh wouldn't it be loverley...