The snowdrops are standing proudly above the dark damp earth having just about recovered from the battering of the snow and slush last week. I don’t have to dash off to work so I think I will have a leisurely breakfast. I arrived home late from work last night, opened the front door and had a view through to the kitchen of a lovely vaseful of flowers that colour-co-ordinated beautifully with the citrussy hues of the room. As if that was not enough there was a beautiful card with a Boucher painting of two girls snuggled up together, delighting in each other’s company AND a big bar of chocolate.
So who was my mystery Valentine? None other than my rock-chick typical teenage daughter, the one who goes to bed too late, gets up too late, lives to populate my dirty-washing basket and blames me for everything that goes wrong in the world.
It’s amazing what an out-pouring of words in a card can do. In this case I think they show the real person under all that teenage terror.