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My daughter came home yesterday; she hasn’t
been here in over two months.
I picked her up at the airport, we hugged
and I drove her home.
She sat in the car and ate biscuits, took
her shoes of and put her feet up on the dashboard.
We chatted about her exams at university,
her nights in the clubs of London and her lack of good socks.
She rushed into the house to greet the
cats, lay on her bed and rolled up into the duvet and charged up her mobile
phone.
She showed me her evaluation piece for the
dance degree she is studying, said some names of muscles she was using that I didn’t
know we had, showed me some exercises to stretch some other muscles that I’m SURE
I don’t have but which will apparently help my back and then we ate spaghetti
ali olio that was hot enough to remind her just how spicy I like my food.
She didn’t comment, she just gobbled it
down (she has been using chilli in her kitchen!) had a ‘bit’ of the ice cream I
had brought in specially and then borrowed the car to go off to the city, find
her brother and mates and get dancing at the all night Dub Club.
For a little precious moment the house was
full of her.
I’ll get to drive her back to the airport
soon.
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