The Small Child and I were at Granny's yesterday, this being easier for both of us while my leg is in plaster. Wandering round, she chanced upon an old copy of John Donne's Love Poems, one of those Penguin 60s they were selling in the mid-90s. This, thinks the Small Child, is great little book and she promptly starts "reading" the story of Goldilocks to Granny out of it. Granny lost it a bit, but not wanting the Small Child to see her in stitches, tells her to go read it to mummy.
I suppose I can be glad that it wasn't Alan Clark's Diaries. There's a copy of that floating around somewhere and all.
No comments:
Post a Comment