Poetry in motion

This Friday, the boy is going to his girlfriend's birthday party. It's just dawned on me that she'll be 14, and he's still a baby 13. Toy boy! He'll never live it down.

If I have my way.

The impending party meant that last w/e was largely taken up with trawling the shops for a suitable present. I had to guide him away from the ski maintenance shop...on the basis that that was a present that he might want, not her. Surprisingly he agreed. Better add that to his birthday list. I did suggest a ski hat with fur...but he didn't think that was quite right. We wandered into gift shops, gadget shops and every other kind of shop. Eventually I suggested a book might be an idea. He suggested the antique bookshop.

So off we went, and we spent hours amongst the dusty cobwebs until he found a beautifully bound book by Walter Scott. A book of poetry. They may not be love poems, but they are poetry. The perfect present. And just £5 to boot.

Hope she enjoys it. A truly romantic gesture. Say aaaaah....