Swings and Roundabouts

I could have sworn everything was bigger, but that's the way it is with childhood memories. I was smaller, so the world around me loomed larger than it does today. But, sitting on the bench, I wonder how I could have wasted so much time here. This was a centre point of my life, the hub of my universe, where I would hang around, night after night, hoping that the big kids would take some notice of me. I was younger than them, and smaller, and often overlooked. Most times I was driven away for being a nuisance, for needing to be looked after, and for being too babyish to join in with their fun. They rarely let me take part in anything, and I was left, disconsolate, swaying miserably on the swings as they wandered away and pretended to be grown up.
The place won't be here much longer because the bulldozers will be moving in soon. The site is being razed to make way for a new bypass, and this is where two roads will intersect. It didn't have to be so. The route could have missed this playground, and a small row of houses nearby, where two of my old antagonists lived until very recently. But the design ensured the doom. I don't suppose they realise the end of their homes and their treasured recreation ground came about directly because of their old hostility.

I left this village a long time ago, went to university and trained as an architect, and now I design roads. I designed this one, and I've made sure that what I lost on the swings all those years ago has been regained through a new roundabout.


Based on a Thinking Ten prompt

Another Thinking Ten

In case you don't know about Thinking Ten it's an online workshop for writers. Every day there's a prompt and you have ten minutres to write something inspired by it. Monday's location day, and today it's The Theatre (Although it's an American site, so it says 'theater', but I refuse to miss out the U in colour, the E in axe or eat 'oregganno'.) Here's my offering for today.




It's his birthday soon and I really had no idea what to get him. Neither of us actually needs anything, and he's so soppy about presents that whatever I do he'll say he loves it. So I never know if he's truly happy with my gifts, or just being his wonderful, kind, considerate, polite self. When I saw the advert for the exhibition I desperately wanted to go, but it's hardly his sort of event. I offered him an opening by saying we could head London-wards for the weekend, see my museum piece and spend the rest of the time doing what he wants. I thought he'd say dinner and a bottle of good wine, but no. "Great," he enthused,"Let's see a West End show." How should I know he'd always wanted to see The Mousetrap? He never mentioned it before. I found myself nodding and smiling and agreeing and wondering just how I could afford all that. So now we're staying In Town at a plush but expensive hotel, seeing the exhibition, going to the theatre, as well as dinner and wine. He's even mentioned bagels and lox in Golders Green on Sunday. I wonder what I can sell to pay for everything.