Empty Nest Syndrome

Yesterday I waved my youngest off into the big wide world.  I packed him up some mutton pies, brushed down his tattered trousers, and watched him disappear off into the Victorian London sunset to seek his fortune.

This isn’t his first time away from home.  Not by a long chalk.  The cheeky little feller keeps coming back, demanding rewrites.  And more pies.  He’s very fond of pies.  But I’m trying my best not to think about him now.  It’s for the best.  No wondering what he’s up to.  No brooding over how he might be faring out there.  It’s time to throw myself into something new.  And thanks to the fabulous folks at Writing Magazine there’s a new literary adventure just around the corner, in the shape of my prize trip to the Iceland Writers Retreat in Reykjavik.  So it’s out with the Victorian ragamuffin garb and straight on with the Viking hat…

IMG_1809

Yes, I know it’s got horns.  It’s also a tad pinker than is strictly authentic…

 

 

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