I am nomad. Hear me roar.


Wednesday, 6 April 2011

Off to Grandfather's House

It is a strange place sometimes, where you are taught on a daily basis how to open the refrigerator door not using the handle, where Kinder chocolate is a usual for breakfast topping for microwaved Weet-Bix, and where all the clocks chime at different times, none on the hour.

When I arrived I did the same thing I always do, my little 'I'm staying at Forster' routine, I walked into the girls' room, bashed my head playfully on the wind chime that hangs from the top of the door frame sending it into tinkling peals of laughter, took the clock off the wall and placed it in the cupboard because it ticks too loud, rolled down the bedspread, placing it on the back of a nearby chair, and flopped down on the tiny wooden bed that was once my mother's.

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