They came back.
The sandwiches I’d lovingly prepared for the journey down south.
They were somewhat squished having journeyed there and back again; and they’d lost their shape having shared space in the back pack with some huge Wellington boots.
I gingerly lifted them out of their brightly coloured orange wrappings. They were limp and gangrene had already set in. I laid them on the side like wounded soldiers.
‘I couldn’t find them.’ the teenager explains. ‘Sorry,’ he adds.
Strange how all the chocolate goodies, their near neighbours, did not return, when these had been hidden in various secret zipped pockets.
However, after a tough week at the chalk face the sight of them makes me smile.
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