My dearest Mother spent her rainy day at home going through some treasures from our childhood. She kindly scanned and emailed these fine examples of my primary school years…clear evidence as to why I am neither a poet or an artist. I have spent the last ten minutes laughing myself stupid at their awfulness. Please feel free to do the same.

The second two (drawing and poem) go together. Note the very specific detail as to the noise the bird in the tree is making. A premonition of my current twitter addiction perhaps. And I do enjoy the awkward second stanza of the poem. Even then it seems bird noises taunted me while I was trying to sleep.

And isn’t the picture of the daily life of mice just darling. Look at their special giant sized swiss cheese. I also remember being very particular about drawing in the rays of the sun. Apparently mice play in the grass, and go to sleep in their very own mouse house, hole in the wall. Just like in cartoons.

She couldn’t tell me how old I was when I drew this. Let’s hope it was about three. Or perhaps that’s insulting to artistic three year olds.