As we came round the corner, under the hedge, where there is still a reasonably deep bank of snow, I noticed a patch of snowdrops. They were, well shall we say, not looking their best? There were a few other patches nearby, looking as daintily spruce and pristine as usual. These were all standing there in their sea green dresses, with those pretty white knitted hats they always wear when they go out – to keep their ears warm, you know. We have become quite used to seeing them, along under the hawthorn, chatting animatedly with each other, each little patch tending to remain within their peer group. Probably friends who have grown up together, All started nursery school on the same day; in the same intake in infants’; same junior school; same senior school – and took the same options at A levels too, no doubt.
And then of course, life intervenes. In the clunky, loud-noisy, gauche form of boys, usually. The friendships built over years, dissolve faster than butter on a baked potato. In no time a group of close knit friends become a battalion of gladiators willing to do battle to the death, at least. Then the combat phase passes and suddenly they are all attending ante-natal classes – together again!
From here it is but a short step to standing around chatting outside the school gates – waiting to pick up the children.
But that’s life.