Yes, I Did Write These Stupid Notes ...

I have been asked if I really did write these absence notes to Mr Wood. The answer is "Yes, I really did," and lived to regret it, as I had created a rod for my own back.

I had tried to buck the system with this latest offering, which I originally penned out as a straightforward, three-lined note. My sharp-eyed son, however, was having none of it.

"You've got to write it in verse."

"Oh," I replied breezily, "I really don't think that's necessary. After all, it's not an absence note, it's a 'sorry for not doing my homework' note.

"You've still got to write it in verse, or I'll get a detention."

"I'm not doing it, Giles ..."

I did it.

UNFINISHED HOMEWORK

Dear Mr. Wood,

Smart came home from double games, at half past six tonight.

Battered and dispirited, a pretty sorry sight.

Slumped across the table, with little careworn face.

He withdrew the pile of school books that lay within his case.

The dinner that I proffered, he must stoically decline,

For "No! He'd loads of homework, and was far too tired to dine".

His performance, whilst denoting, nothing untoward,

Would have earned a lesser actor, an Academy Award.

Still, in fairness and in resumé, at least, he had a go,

Though he couldn't do his homework, since he fell asleep, and so,

Whilst simulating sorrow,

He'll finish it tomorrow.

Yours sincerely,

Maggie Smart

Fly Free Little Dove

TEDETTA

I was sitting in the garden, enjoying a cup of coffee and a croissant,

When something white with feathers, landed in the pond with a mighty SPLOSH

I thought it was a duck – but it wasn’t,

It was a white pigeon, or should I say ‘white dove’ – which sounds quite posh.

He spluttered out of the pond and slumped down on the patio, near to where I was sitting,

He seemed to have no fear of me and wasn’t in the least suspicious,

Merely observing social distance, which was fitting,

But at the same time, injudicious.

This guy was far too trusting, totally lacking in savvy and markedly unassertive,

He wouldn’t stand a chance against the local riffraff, like the magpies and crows

Or the neighbourhood fox, who was cunning, bold and furtive,

And totally lacking in compassion – as everybody knows.

The pigeon/dove clearly demonstrated his intentions of moving in and taking up residence.

We invested some time in exploring his dietary expectations,

We named him Ted but after having done so, we found sufficient evidence

To suggest that Ted was actually Tedetta, which had various implications.

Yesterday, she attracted a troop of common wood pigeons, who were puffing themselves up and doing their hugely irritating cooing .

Today, she has invited three, pinky-beige, aristo pigeons over for lunch,

I cannot help but feel that there’s trouble brewing,

For I sense that we are being skillfully manipulated into buying a dovecote – just a hunch!

She had been with us about three weeks, living in the equivalent of a pigeon five-star hotel.

With four meals a day provided, which was handy because Tedetta was a gatherer, not a hunter.

And although she was obviously in good health and doing well,

Eating all those meals had transformed her into Bessie Bunter.

Early on a sunny morning in July, we found a mass of white feathers strewn across the lawn Whilst we didn’t know exactly what had happened - we guessed.

We never saw Tedetta again and our hearts were torn.

R.I.P, little dove

Fly free, little dove.

You were the best.

Maggie Smart

It Absolutely Can't Be Parkinson's

N.B. Lack of arm-swing, facial rigidity and lack of blinking are all symptoms of PD.

DIAGNOSIS

The consultant stepped out of his office,

Paused a moment and called out “Mrs Smart?”

Over-quickly and over-deftly, I crossed the room towards him,

Swinging my arms with an exaggerated art.

Willing my face to look expressive,

I blinked an awful lot and looked him in the eyes,

But he wasn’t in the least bit fooled,

Which, considering he was a professional, came as no surprise.

However, he was very kind and reassuring

As he examined me from head to toe,

Somehow eliciting all the bits and pieces of information

That I didn’t really want him to know.

When he’d finished, he sat me down and spoke in soothing tones,

Giving my hand the odd, gentle squeeze,

And calmly explaining the ramifications of his diagnosis,

Which was indeed Parkinson’s Disease.

Strangely enough, even though by then I’d sussed out

That life wouldn’t always be a bed of roses,

I’ll swear that at that very moment, my most pressing thought

Was: “I wonder what time Sainsbury’s closes?”

Maggie Smart