being little.

I was going to write something deep and profoundly complicated about different faces of reality and different perceptions of what is 'real' and what is not. But then I went to Tim's podcast site and heard a little 8 year old Timothy Marjoribanks reading out some poems that he wrote. You really must listen to it, it's so sweet! www.pigeonboy.podbean.com (can't remember how to make it a proper link but you're all very clever and can cut and paste it into the browser I'm sure.) It is really strange to hear this little voice (with a decidedly London accent!) and think that it belongs to the same person that is Tim today. Does that make sense? One of the comments on the site is that you don't often think of your friends as little children, which is so true! Yesterday, when I was going my usual 'chuck-out' of everything in my room that I don't need because I live in Durham without it, I found all my photos going back to primary school. To me it's the strangest concept that this image I'm holding in my hand is 'me'. It's Katherine Joy Yarborough however many years ago. Does anyone else find that strange? Maybe it's just me, but it's very odd how everything changes and yet it's still the same. Tim's voice is much deeper now, and he's got much more of a northern accent. But he's the same person. I'm much taller, have a better dress sense (at least I think I do!) and my hair is totally different (obviously!). But I'm the same person.

I know that the whole point of life is that it changes. The Circle of Life. Etc. Etc. But it never ceases to shock me just how much can change in such a short period of time. Relatively speaking. Anyway, it seems I've gone from one philosophical topic to another. How is everyone's holiday going? For those of you who are on holiday anyways. I've only been back in Harrogate for about 26 hours and I'm bored already. I wrote a list this morning of all the work I need to do this Easter and got so freaked out I had to sit down. I'm working again tomorrow with the lovely lovely children at the kid's club. I hope some of them have moved to Mongolia.

And now, after wasting time I need to go back to reading this gripping article about Julio Cortazar and the 'issues, problems, aspirations and impossibilities posed' by his novels. Oooh I can hardly contain myself. Stupid degree.
Hope everyone else is happy.

Bye. x