Wreck

Beady eyed and only coming up to our elbows, the Song Club children run rings around us, with their own little codes of misbehaviour, able to turn each other into quivering jellies with a withering look ('evils') and turning us into exhausted bags of bones and spent muscle by the end of an hour's hard work.
How come I ache so much? I didn't think I had moved. I have nearly lost my voice, and I smell of pencils.

Three boxes of CDs turned up this afternoon (thats three hundred!). It looks fab, but I've been too busy Song Clubbing and re-stocking on the family toothpaste and shampoo to listen yet. The gig's going to be good, we're rehearsing on Thursday evening. The tickets are selling (good idea to get one in advance as it's such a small venue, from wegottickets.com, details on my myspace, www.myspace.com/helenmccookerybook) and I am trying to learn my words, difficult with a brain with so many leaky holes in it.
You will have gathered that I am a physical and mental wreck this evening. I am sitting on one of the cats, who doesn't seem to mind (likes the attention) and looking out of the window at the sunshine. People are walking past, spilling their secrets into their mobile phones in loud voices, as though the magic of the mobile will deafen strangers to their conversations.