My Baby Bro and I have been summoned to collect artefacts from our old rooms or to authorise the binning of boxes of
It was against this backdrop of change that my mum sent me a scan of my much-dicussed, but never seen, childhood story, The Magic Chair.
I wrote it when I was about seven and my dad had it typed up for me to illustrate and then had it bound as a keepsake. It was at that point that I got shy about it, and hid it.
For all eternity.
Or until 2014 when they started ripping out bookshelves.
Have a quick read.
See if there's anything that grabs you from my infant imagination, or stands out in my prowess in illustration and storytelling:
Well, to start with, I'm no Quentin Blake or A.A. Milne, am I? NO!! Not. At. All.
I tell you what I can do though?
I can tell the bl**dy future!!!
I, sorry, a little girl called "Emma" sat on a chair, a lot. No walking or running for me/Emma. I'm a sitter through and through. The more I can sit, the happier I am. My magic chair carries me all over the world, even underground, to where I need to be.
Oh, and look, in between all the sitting down and whizzing around, I seem to be very focussed on planning. Making plans that involve a heavy emphasis on food and travel and a lot of hanging out, drinking and eating with new, colourful friends all over the world.
"... ate, slept, went on a trip, ate some food whilst I was there, came back and went to sleep, got up, went on some more trips, ate some more food, then went to sleep..."
So basically: Eat. Sleep. Rave. Repeat.
Oh, and you know, just hanging out, maxing, relaxing all cool with my main man God*.
No biggie.
Apparently I was pretty amazing at rocking a possesive apostrophe in plural as well...
Magical indeed.
* I reckon I probably wrote this around the time of my first Holy Communion or Confession. You know, when you're discovering that God is omnipotent and important (and not impotent)...
