Next time, maybe
The small girl has started to write to me. That is to say, she’s written one letter consisting of a paragraph and a load of scribbles. One paragraph. That’s all it is, this letter. One paragraph and a load of scribbles that make absolutely no sense as pictures. If I tilt my head slightly, and squint, one of them almost looks like a cloud, but the others are unrecognisable. And she’s misspelt ‘there’. She’s written it’s a shame you weren’t their, because the cake was adorable.
