Beneath the willow, you will find me.

Not today of course. Today I’m sat in the office. Daydreaming. Again.

When I was younger…

About 500 miles away this is.

There’s a willow tree overhanging the river at my grandmas house.

Maybe still there, is a spade leant against the tree. And a rake.

Tied round the tree a rope, and on the end a hook.

A hook that might still be hooked around a raft.

And all those years ago.

Underneath the willow tree, you’d find me. Sat on the raft, a bucket of eels next to me, using the spade as an oar, the rake as a punt, a pole.

Maybe you can hear me singing, out of tune.

Or maybe my friends sat next to me, and we talking, too distracted to hear my mother yelling for dinner.