Cherry Pie

Two things in particular caught my attention this morning, right before lunch.

Firstly, I had an interview published in Martial Arts Illustrated magazine, which was done a while back and had almost been forgotten. I thought 'next edition' might the editorial version of 'manyana.' I knew it was actually in print after a tag on Facebook, so today I bought a copy and there is me and Mr (thank you Layla for the photos, very natural shots) not squashed in a half page (which I was prepared for) but splashed over three. I had to keep looking at it in case I had miscounted or the pictures were moving and this was dreaming.

(It's national in the UK, but if you are further away and want to track down a copy, try www.maionline.co.uk. It was not a dream, the pages are there!)

Strolls I, stunned in the sunshine, to my car and off to meet Boy and we buy a cherry pie because it's a celebrating sort of day.

(Yesterday Mr put on his dark suit and went to the funeral of Master Jonny Black who was only 59. Life is sensitively precious at these times.)

Pie purchased, I am driving us home. There's no reason why I am going so slowly as we drop into the village, but it's a sunny day, I am in a magazine, life is worth noticing. I have plenty of time to see the Parceline van and tuck in behind the parked car, only I can't tuck in behind the parked car because my car won't stop. I swerve, lightly, the van swerves, moderately. If the driver's window was open he might have heard me say 'Oh my god, my brakes don't work.' They squealed, so maybe that's all he heard. From there we drifted to a standstill. Not a bruise between us, not a crumpled page, not even a broken pie crust.