Adrian and I are going through old paperwork at the moment, looking through cards and letters we’ve sent each other as well those other people have sent to us, trying to decide what has true sentimental value and needs to be kept and what should be recycled.
More than ten years ago, I went on holiday to the Isle of Wight with my family, acting as chauffeur for my parents because my dad broke his ankle a few days beforehand. I missed Adrian and decided to write him a poem which I sent him on a postcard (see picture). With the benefit of hindsight, the postcard was a great idea. The poem maybe not quite so much.
Here I am on the Isle of Wight,
But you are out of my sight.
It’s a nice place to be –
All surrounded by sea.
Although I’m sitting in a nice bay,
My thoughts are far away.
I’m thinking of Bilbo and Jack*;
Can’t wait to come back.
But even more, I miss my man,
So I’ll come back when I’ve got a tan.
Once I recovered from hysterics over my awful attempt at poetry, I wasn’t sure which disturbed me more: the fact that I composed it in the first place or that I wrote it on a card for the postman to see!
*Bilbo and Jack were my pet guinea pig and rabbit at the time.