Bee been concerned with dances-raindrops-postcards-holdinghands-jellybeans-cardgames-fairystories-thefuture-sparkles-ohwherehasthesummergone-toast-London-panic-naptime-him-and runningawayfromwasps.
I want to go live in a meadow. I want to have a tiny cottage, in the middle of a flower meadow, with a path and a stream and a bridge and a tree with a swing. I want floral wallpaper inside and a pastel kitchen and massive squashy chintzy arm chairs and a cat and flowers everywhere.
I want to have a career where i get to read whatever i want all day and not do much else. I want to bake cakes, go to village fetes and never ever ever ever ever wear jeans.
I think I could live without most technology - a diary could replace a blog, I barely watch television, the obsession with it confuses me, why watch TV when there are so many more worthwhile books out there?!
I could fill my house with old books, live amongst the heros and villains of the pages, take tea with Alice, have adventures with Don Quixote and contemplate moral issues with Raskolnikov.
Sometimes I worry I would almost too willingly relinquish all human contact for books, but then I remember him, and my girls, and I realise there are three people I could never give up.
I don't want to grow up, but I'm pretty sure I want to live with him, in the cottage in the meadow, with flowers in my hair and holding hands forever.
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