My Boy

Here is a picture of my son, Arthur, sitting up and watching us pull faces and make odd sounds for his amusement.


I confess that he doesn’t look overly impressed but at least he’s not crying. Babies, I have discovered, do crying, sleeping, and shitting very well indeed. It’s pretty much all Arthur does so a rare moment in which he just sits and stares at you must be captured and then obviously blogged about.

I’ve done my best monkey impression, mimicked an array of farm yard animals, danced (even the ‘walk like an Egyptian’) and made fart noises on his stomach. Did I get even one smile? No.

Oh well, I don’t mind. When those smiles do come they light up the whole day and then keep you smiling in anticipation of the next.

One of these days I may even capture one of the smiles with my camera. That’ll be a happy day.

Author: Mark S Thompson

Okay, so these things are kind of hit and miss. If you’re reading this then I am thankful to you for taking the time out of your day to do so. I’ll be honest, when I think of myself as a writer, I kinda cringe. Don’t get me wrong, it is the dream, it's​ just I never really believe it will go anywhere. When I think back to the day that I first knew I loved writing, and I mean really knew, I see myself sitting in an English lesson at secondary school. The school was called Wrotham and is in the county of Kent, England. As far as I know, it's still there. English was far and away my favourite subject. The best bit was when the teacher gave the class a selection of words and asked us to make up a story that either contained those words or was about those words, you know. At other times we would be given the first sentence and then write what happens next. Good times. Many times my work would reflect what I had recently read and it would be okay. Nothing special, just okay. On one occasion though I wrote about a merman called Finchy and can remember going into so much depth and detail about him and the underwater kingdom he lived in. I really enjoyed writing that and it must have shown because my teacher commented on it. She was really impressed and loved the story. That was it for me, my moment. Now when I write I think back to those great times and to that story. Hopefully, I’ll write something that you, the reader, will be moved to comment on. For me, there is no greater elixir

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