Looking back on old posts as I reblog them, I noticed some consistent spelling errors. That led me to check on some recent comments I have left and posts published this year.
Words including the letter ‘W’ are easily explained, as my keyboard has an issue with that letter, and I have to hit it very hard (or twice) for a ‘W’ to register. That is why you will often see my usual ‘Best wishes’, appearing as ‘Best ishes’. I could change the keyboard, but it was a gift from Julie, so will hang onto it a bit longer. I have tried to ‘fiddle’ with the ‘W’ key, but it doesn’t appear to want to budge.
However, other mistakes are less easy to explain. I contantly mis-type the word ‘Remember’, leaving out the second ‘M’, and ending up with ‘Remeber’. I do this so often, it seems I have a blind spot of some kind when it comes to the word.
‘Because’ is another one. I seem to type ‘Becuase’ as frequently as the correct spelling.
When you consider how carefully I check text before posting, I wonder why I miss those errors on a daily basis.
Is this a sign of some kind of mental degeneration, I wonder? Anyone else experiencing something similar, or is it just me?
The hair was always there.
Once blonde, then mousey brown.
Always short and neat.
Then one day.
Most of it was gone.
Still short and neat.
The ball must have bounced right over me.
Too high for me to see.
It was in the back of the net.
Before I even realised it had been kicked.
Only the celebration of the scorer to make me aware.
A sporting career over, before it began.
In the seat opposite me on the train.
She is older. Attractive. Confident.
She sees me looking.
Well, not looking. Staring.
Embarassed, I turn back to my newspaper.
But not before I glimpse her warm smile.
An abandoned shop on the High Street.
Someone inside the window, watching me pass by.
I stop to look.
He is old. Small. Tired-looking.
The shock of realisation.
My own reflection stares back.
The sweetness of the spinning candy floss machine.
The sharpness of vinegar from the shellfish stall.
In a seaside town.
Stale beer and strong tobacco.
Clinging to my father.
Wakes me up as he lifts me from the car.
Behind a closed door.
She dreads the sound of his key in the lock.
Tomorrow, the same excuses.
“I tripped up a step”.
“Slipped on a wet floor”.
There he was, being interviewed.
Live on TV.
A man I had long thought dead.
Into the office, to check on my PC.
78? I would have sworn he was older than that.
Something bitter said in haste.
An action taken without thought.
Too late to take them back now.
The harm cannot be undone.
The twelfth fare of that shift.
They get in the back.
I drive away.
He leans forward, head between the seats.
I reply in the affirmative.
For the twelfth time that night.