It has been a long week. I went to Devon for the bank holiday weekend. I was supposed to be going for the Wimbleball preparation day, but having dropped out of that, I just went and stayed with a friend and made new friends and did the things that one ought to do in Devon, like eat oysters (for the first time) and fish and chips (for the billionth time), and dance to a band in a pub, and draw large Xs in the sand on a quiet beach and write ‘DIG!’ and ‘HERE BE TREASURE!’ next to them. Continue reading
Today, on the way home, I managed to slip on a wet floor and bash my knee. I thought it was ok, but then it turned out not to be. So instead of swimming, I’m sat in the reading nook of our front room, typing by candlelight and blocking out the sound of my old, clackety keyboard with Sia –so yes, wallowing – with one dog asleep across my feet. Continue reading
That last entry is the most popular thing I’ve ever written – more than 10 times the number of views I usually have. That could have something to do with me linking to it with the comment, ‘Sorry if this is too much information’. Quite a lot of people probably clicked and then went away again almost immediately, disappointed at the lack of drama or naked body parts – the naked photos are a few entries back, folks. I could keep adding such interest-inducing comments to the links, but I don’t think I could keep the hyperbole up (‘More too much information!’; ‘Ladybits!’; ‘MY WHOLE PRIVATE DIARY!’).
Yesterday a good friend of mine, who has gone to travel and live in a couple of other countries for the next year, got in touch. He was upset – someone he knew, but wasn’t close to, died. It was a very short conversation, but it got me thinking about absent friends.
It’s been a couple of years since I’ve written an entry. Something of a disappointment, really, given that one of the items on the list I intended to blog about is to write 52 entries. Supposed to be one a week – how difficult could that have been?