Robyn Anderson

I’ve discovered the house has a language of it’s own. It creaks and groans and when the wind blows, it slams and bangs and sounds like a prop forward in a hard fought game of rugby. The one thing it doesn’t have right now, is a lot of occupants. Last weekend when the sun shone and the cool easterly wind packed it in for half a day, four of us sought relief in the air con of the Bowling Alley. I was beaten by a kid using bumper bars (to her advantage I might add), though I did have them scared for a two strikes in a row.  After the kids had poured far too much money into machines that have never paid out a prize ever,  we winged our way through the Lyttleton Tunnel in the new convertible, so delighted with the cool, damp air on our skin that we didn’t mind inhaling lungfuls of petrol fumes. The sunburn had started by the time we stopped at the Sign of the Kiwi for an icecream. By then the wind was whipping up the leeward side of the Port Hills and had it not been for the generous ‘single’ scoops we may have been lifted up and sailed out to sea. It was a good last day because the Adventurer came home from her 3 days in Auckland and we had fish and chips for tea.

Then everyone left and I was on my own. It took a day to vaccuum and wash the floors and put everything back. I still find things out of place and I remember the little toes gamely clinging onto the Cinderella high heels as the rest of the body laughingly swung (as opposed to depressingly dropped)  from the rope in the tree. There is  still a big patch of dead grass from the tent and everything that was blown up and bounced on is now pretty much like me, flattened and waiting for what happens next. But at least I have a plan. I have begun reading the 30,000 words I put aside in order to play house. It’s a big change from “I want my Pottie!” but omg would I love to share those publishing stats. I sent a book in the post yesterday to an Australian Library Service and had a converstation with the woman behind the desk that began,  ‘Are you an author?’ ‘Yeah – now I’ve vaccuumed up the thousand and one glittery little red hearts that fell off the gift my 4 year old granddaughter made me, I think that’s exactly what I am.’