Eek! Last time we fell behind post schedule we vowed and declared it would not, never again, cross our hearts etc etc happen again and yet here we are, barely a fortnight on, scrambling to catch up with ourselves again. What makes it worse is that last weekend’s morning tea, hosted by the precise, slightly pedantic, mechanically minded, punctual (that by way of signalling it wasn’t HER fault) Goat Herd actually occurred a day earlier on account of a previous Sunday engagement. Ah well, hopefully this falls into the “good things are worth waiting for” category and not the “why did they bother?’ one.
It was stories in general and another gem from The Doctor (Matt Smith this time) in particular that we pondered as we plowed our way through a pair of sort-of-summer puddings (the hosts description, not ours, but she is right to retort photographic evidence would have helped) of epic bready, smooshy, crunchy, creamy goodness.
Sylvia Chicken prefers not to think of her six boy baby’s fast approaching final chapter.
The concept of a “good” story is interesting. Everyone would want their story to be one of joy, contentment and happily-ever-after yet we’re all realistic enough to know how tedious that would get after a while. The truth is to make a really good story – one of those sorry-the-tea’s-late-I-was-just-going-to-read-to-the-end-of-the-chapter ones – there needs to be a sprinkling of calamity, despair, terror, and/or injustice. Those nasty bits are the things that keep you turning the pages, despite them not being a great deal of fun when you’re mid chapter and worrying this may be one of those open-ending, no resolution tales. Certainly everyone around the Sunday Morning Tea (on Saturday) table wanted their story to be one of joyous highs and cataclysmic lows interspersed with some smooth sailing to allow one to regather and recover. One thing we were all sure of, however, was the 100% watertight guarantee of a happy ending.
As a group, our story has been a bit fraught of late. Our decision over Farm Girl’s alternative education had proved to be something no one in authority wanted to see set a precedent, our legal eagles seemed to have got a little too comfy in their nest, and *sob* no one wanted to buy our van. It was time to turn the page; it was time for the gritty chapter.
And everyone knows what comes after that…or do they?