To my amazement I just found myself reading the PC version of Baby Bunting!
It happened this way. It was a dark and stormy night... well, a bright and sunny morning actually, and I took myself off to the Post Office as Amy has requested a copy of "Till They Dropped" - she wants to review it for her blog, bless her. How lovely is that?
And if and when that review appears, it will also appear on my blog. Anyway, I did the posting and went in to Oxfam to check out the books, and found a Mary Higgins Clark I hadn't yet read "Daddy's Gone a-Hunting". She is an efficient thriller writer, her books are very readable. But, on the first page, she introduces her theme with a verse from the nursery rhyme, but a Bowdlerised version:
Bye baby bunting,
Daddy's gone a-hunting,
A rosy wisp of cloud to win,
To wrap his baby bunting in.
Now, am I dreaming, or in the brutal realistic days of the 1950s didn't daddy used to go a-hunting for something else? Hadn't he gone to get a rabbit skin to wrap his baby bunting in?
Though the pain in my knee was fierce yesterday morning and it seemed to take me all my strength to hobble round the flat, I was pretty much OK by the evening which was a good thing, as it was pouring with rain, and Anne-Marie rang up for a lift to the meeting. And I was able to drive.
It was a wonderful meeting of course. Jehovah teaches us so carefully and so gently.
Aunt Jo rang today to say that the card I had sent had arrived and she loved it. I had chosen it from the shop at the Pallant Gallery, for her. She is so frail now though... old age is distressing. I can remember her and my young mother, both so young and pretty in the 1940s manner. In one way, it seems like yesterday, in another way, eons ago.
Jackie seems a lot better, thank goodness.
But I am now worrying about poor baby bunting. A rosy wisp of cloud is not going to keep the poor child warm, not in an English climate.
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