Swiftly, she ran the race.
Neatly, she packed her adverbs
And sent them into space.
When I came down to breakfast this morning, Ming had dismantled his spaceship and spread
its parts across the living room floor.
Lucy arrived - all flustered because she’d opened a letter delivered to her by mistake.
It was another bill from Manchester.
She was impressed. If Ming was prepared to spend £5,000 per book about geraniums, he must be a real expert.
Then she noticed the springs and coils and nuts and bolts and motion distributors (and things) arranged in groups around the carpet.
“What . . . ?”
I looked as startled as I could; and replied quietly.
“Didn’t I tell you? Ming is working at the M.O.D.? . . . Um . . . Shall we go to the kitchen?”
* * * * *
Ming went up to the Junior School but still couldn’t explain why he doesn’t know the names of our children.
“It’s because we don’t have any!” I said. (Not only was I exasperated - I was frightened.)
Sometimes, it crosses my mind that he may not really be a Martian - simply ‘mad’.
_ _ _ _ _