I remember my dad telling me that time moved quicker when you got older. Or at least it appeared to. This seemed like total nonsense to me but that was only because I hadn’t lived long enough to realise how slowly time was moving for me. Everything took forever back then. I remember later being told if you’re pregnant and already have a wee one don’t tell them there’s another baby on the way until a month or two before you’re due date because nine months is an eternity to a small child and they’ll be asking you every day if it’s time yet.

 

Time with B. zipped past. No sooner had we met and she was saying goodbye. And when was I going to see her again? When? When?