Tears before Thursday: Baby Bawling, Snow Thawing, Dog Snoring

I arrived back from Leeds for one pm, had some noodles, bean sprouts, veg and things, played with Finley for a little while. He’s a little sickly lately. Emma thinks that this might be because he is no longer breast feeding. Poor Bear. The baby is wailing constantly – not like him as he’s usually very happy. I think he wants a ‘cudge’; he thrusts his arms forward looking hopefully and I happily undertake the task. He smiles at me whenever I come in the room so I think we’re pals; but he doesn’t know it yet.

He drifts through this wailing and bawling, with occasional half smiles, not knowing what to do. I decide to see what his reaction to music would be? I’d heard certain classical music has an impact mood, behaviour and development, but I’m not sure Beethoven is the right chord? Anyway he responds instantly and wants to touch the music centre. No No! I wonder if he needs something a little more relaxing and enjoyable; music was always my remedy as a baby.

In the antique chest I shuffle through the records and come up a classic of 1971: Teaser and the Firecat by ‘Cat’ Stevens. If I Laugh, Tuesday’s Dead, Morning Has Broken, Moonshadow and I am in a full flood of tears. Finley is content in my arms and quite unaware of the salty water falling on his tender head. Hardly any music got as good as this album?

Took my merry friend for a long walk, in virgin snow, at four thirty. I had heard that it was going to rain so I wanted to take him walking while it was still a few inches deep. Usual route however along Harland Way, Route 66, west off Deighton Road, passed two bridges took the left turn up to the next two bridges, Hilltop Farm and Spofforth Hill. By the time we hit clean snow on The Ings the rain had turned to icy rain blowing from the east. Snoops behaves like a puppy on the fresh snow he runs, gallops, bites or licks the snow in each bound.

Came back to home to find sister has returned and her Boyfriend is due shortly. Suddenly fell a little in the wrong place at the wrong time(they’re having there central heating sorted at the new house so are also staying the night). Off back to Leeds: I didn’t want to tonight as I have Thursday to fear and I want to put it as far away as possible until the day itself. Waited 15 mins for the X99 and then a African guy walks past tells me he’s waited since 19:30 and seen no bus go towards Deighton Bar. I decided to trudge in the brown slush to the Bus Station in Wetherby to see if there is any indication of whether there might be a bus there. My mood is declining. I get there and there is no lighting on in the the dank, plain, basic shelter that is called the station: the travel display suggests a bus going to Deighton Bar with arrive in 30 mins. I decide it’s not worth it as this might all be a First Bus lie; I’ve had ‘interesting’ experiences with First Group in Truro before. Back to 42 for the evening and I’ll set off at ten am Thursday for my date with fate.

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