18/12/2009 by Woodsy.

Dear Santa, I knew you were real, I just knew it. For years my mummy wouldn’t let me see you, kept saying I had to be asleep in my bed before you would come, but I knew someday we would meet. My name is Edward, I’m 9 and have a pet Rat called Richard. I don’t have any friends and I keep getting picked on at school, bu…t am well behaved and love science. This year I have been helping out around the house, hovering, ironing, polishing and plumbing. Like my author I am very clever and naturally brilliant and everything and one day I hope to be a subatomic biomechanical physicist or work in a Train Station because I love trains.

My mummy says she can’t afford it, but this year I would really like a Fujifilm Finepix S200EXR digital camera, mummy also says I shouldn’t know what one is because I’m only 9 years old, which I considered rich coming from a person who considers the World Wide Web some form of adhesive used for large picture frames. An…d so dear Santa now that you have are online perhaps you could make my dreams come true this year (£395 from warehouseexpress.com), I hope your reindeer are keeping well, and please send Richard the rat something, he is getting board of his annual magnetic chessboard set on the basis that he regards it as food.

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14/01/2009 by Woodsy.

The following can be regarded as a mindful blurge I came up with after (or during) composing a personal statement for something quite different:

We cannot learn anything new, only remember that which we always knew, and though the keys are hidden from me, I believe there are doorways I haven’t opened and windows I am yet to look through, going forward may not be the answer, maybe I should go back, back to the roots. But then once I have found my way I must (as we all must) consider the following [courtesy of Oh, the Places You’ll Go – by Dr Seuss]:

Do you dare to stay out? Do you dare to go in?
How much can you lose? How much can you win?
And IF you go in, should you turn left or right…
or right-and-three-quarters? Or, maybe, not quite?
Or go around back and sneak in from behind?
Simple it’s not, I’m afraid you will find,
for a mind-maker-upper to make up his mind.
You can get so confused
that you’ll start in to race
down long wiggled roads at a break-necking pace
and grind on for miles across weirdish wild space,
headed, I fear, toward a most useless place.
The Waiting Place…
…for people just waiting.
Waiting for a train to go
or a bus to come, or a plane to go
or the mail to come, or the rain to go
or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow
or waiting around for a Yes or a No
or waiting for their hair to grow.
Everyone is just waiting.
Waiting for the fish to bite
or waiting for wind to fly a kite
or waiting around for Friday night
or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake
or a pot to boil, or a Better Break
or a sting of pearls, or a pair of pants
or a wig with curls, or Another Chance.

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