29 November 2017 is the date I started my blog, initially as an expressive outlet for some of the myriad thoughts whirling incessantly round my head. My intention was to attempt to attract people that were interested in my music and the life of a freelance musician to my website. Just over a year later, in one of my now regular stock takes and decluttering episodes, it’s become apparent that quite a few people enjoy reading what I write.
My blog has already served its purpose in that I’m able to express in writing far more quickly and clearly what I most often struggle to shrink down into spoken words. This has helped me in more ways than I imagined possible.
My style of writing is instinctive, emotional and creative so if it’s grammatically immaculate facts your after (pun intended), this probably won’t be your thing. If you want an intuitive and occasionally indulgent written meander in colourful language whilst picking up a few pebbles to skim over the surface of that stream water, let’s jump in - the water’s quite nice.
Tonight I have no idea which direction this new page will take. All I know is that it’s a journey I’m ready to explore. Coming with me? What are we waiting for?
And so it happened. The thing I feared most since I started my Proper Job happened. I jammed my hand between the wall and a heavy roller cage laden high with cases of beer, wine and spirits. There’s irony for you. I was heaving and hefting, huffing and puffing to get the bastard thing up the ramp into the fridges and, assisted by K, got my hand jammed just above my wrist. Time froze, as did my wrist afterwards, plunged into ice water in the canteen sink. Lightning quick thinking from K – thanks. The shock and shooting pain brought sorrowful sobs from deep down inside. Five minutes later, ice pack on wrist and dosed up with ibuprofen, I was back at the tills. With over 2 hours left of my shift, I asked if my role could be limited to lighter work, a more desirable option than going home and having to call someone in. Being busy helped keep my mind off the disaster that befell me but as soon as there was a lull in traffic, tears started pricking my eyes as I saw what’s left of my playing career wash down the drain. Don’t worry, it’s just bruised and a bit sore today but I can play a bit. I love a bit of drama me.
Proof that running makes your legs longer?
I’ve never taken my hands for granted. I’ve always been super careful but this year I’ve taken more risks. I’ve become more active physically and pushed my swimming harder, starting weekly lessons on top of my pool fitness classes in July. It’s a time saving idea, so I get a double session in twice a week which saves time fannying around in the changing room. This also gives my callouses time to recover and I think the chlorine hardens the skin on my fingers. With a very wet Autumn upon us, weather is no excuse since it’s often drier in the pool. The irresistibly addictive endorphin rush is the main reason I’m hooked on swimming, as well as running and walking. I often arrive at the baths grumpy and ridden with angst about the future. An hour and a half later I’m a hyperactive gregarious mass of energy, giggling as I bounce out of the leisure centre, whooping in my car as I drive home to get back to my work.
In September I completed my 100 miles walking and running. My friend and mentor Gareth instilled the idea in me, and getting so close in August with 87 miles in the bag, I decided I’d give it a go. No pressure as I had a lot of work to do, but the idea was niggling away in the back of my mind. Feeling a bit aimless about my career, having a target and anticipating that sense of achievement made me want to get up in the morning. So on the morning of 30 September, I notched up 100.9 miles. Think about that. I don’t think I drive 100 miles in a month these days, and that’s another story. I would have bettered my 100 but I wanted to celebrate my achievement with a flask of coffee by the res and a slow ceremonious absorbent stroll.
Hip flask
It was a spectacular morning and my elation was immense. I was at peace.
It’s difficult to describe Gareth Boot. He’s a bit of a chameleon. With his generous support, coaching and mentorship, I’m now almost 2 years sober and smoke free. I’m fitter than I’ve ever been and with his support, I feel equipped to face life’s challenges. If you need assistance with any aspect of your wellbeing, take a look at garethboot.com and drop him a line. He’d love to hear from you so long as you’re not an arsehole! With his lovely partner Sue, they run a company called Better 247 which focuses on all things wellbeing. Sue does a gorgeous banana cake too, amongst an ever expanding range of other delicious vegan recipes. Gareth took me on a run earlier this week and I notched up 10.34 miles. Me! It wasn’t pretty but that doesn’t matter. I did it. That’s what matters.
Mr Boot in full flow at YSP
Since the incident at the shop, I’ve really got my head down and started to face the issues I’m avoiding around getting creative work. I can play the harp. I can write. I’m good at languages and I can cook, and clean if I must. The bigger issue is telling people about myself and getting people to hire me. My business skills are improving but I’m not a natural saleswoman. I’m aware of my talents and my weaknesses and that’s a good starting point.
It’s Saturday in the middle of one of those never ending hamster wheel weeks during which the days all seem to meld into one. I’ve taken on some extra shifts so every day feels like Monday. Usually I like Mondays but not at the moment. I’ve worked shifts Monday, Wednesday and yesterday and I’ve got a 7am shift tomorrow, and it all starts again on Monday. I’m now 6 months into this job and I feel I’m getting worse at it! The fast pace of the world of retail definitely isn’t for me forever, but how else am I going to earn a living? I was offered 5 evening sessions of orchestral work this week for a paltry amount of money and the sad fact is that, financially, I’m better off doing the shop work. I’m also ecstatic not to have to sit twiddling my thumbs on a motorway.
Unfortunately the skills and qualities I possess seem to hold very little value in the world of retail. The faster you go, the more money you make? I disagree. I feel it’s important to gear my level of service to each customer. I have an awareness of those in a rush, who have no time for, or interest in, a bit of lighthearted banter. And then there are other, often older, customers who clearly fancy a bit of a chinwag and there’s nothing I’d love more but I know I’m being observed. Time is money but people are people.
I dashed out of the shop yesterday. There was a tangibly tense atmosphere during my shift in any case. There’d been a power outage in town on Thursday and I gathered the shop had been shut for some time. The residual atmosphere of mayhem and chaos was oppressive. I tried to help my colleagues when there were no customers waiting to be served, but as it isn’t my usual shift, I ended up causing a bit more mayhem and chaos. Four hours later and slightly more agitated than usual, I went straight to the car and cried a bit. Then I got angry so I dozed for 15 minutes before heading to J’s for lunch. Determined to put a brave face on, I got out of my car, smiled my hello and promptly burst into tears! I just can’t hide my feelings. It was a relief to feel free to express my emotions and not brush aside the fact I’m so utterly miserable about several aspects of my life at the moment. I’m not looking forward to much. When I get home I don’t have that feeling of relief. I find it very hard to just be.
J suggested I try to renegotiate my contract and stop taking on extra shifts. Learn to say no. Yes, but how am I going to pay my mortgage? Pay for promotional work? Book my next holiday? Buy that wetsuit? How about a reading chair for the attic? A lounger for the garden? I’m fucking doing this single handed and you loyal readers who follow my blog will know I often think I’ve bitten off more than I can chew with my house project, rattling around it like a loose cannon. The thing is, this job offers me the freedom to explore things I probably wouldn’t have considered, like wild swimming. And spinning.
I did my first class last night and of course I thought I was dying, mainly of saddle sore rather than a heart attack actually. C and I arrived at the gym to a short queue of young women. She asked who was teaching and they said J. A knowing ripple of trepidation ran around the anteroom outside the dark chamber of horrors with its disco lighting and loud techno music. Apparently it was J last week and one of the women still had chafing on her thighs. Out popped “Never mind that, how was the class?” I can’t help myself.
Now here’s something. Get this. There were men in spin. There are very few men in pool classes, and they’re clearly gay or taken. Same goes at the shop. But yes, there were men. Hmmmmm.
Spin was hard. It was really hard! I’m booked in for next week.
I enjoy some lovely engagement with some of the male customers at the shop. An unfamiliar man came in a couple of weeks ago. It was quiet at the tills and after a bit of conversation, I asked if he’d ever been told he looked like someone famous. Yes, he had. He’s the image of a very cool American actor so we had a good laugh at that.
He came in yesterday with his gorgeous honeydew-haired bright-eyed 8/9 year old daughter. It transpires they live down the road, literally a stone’s throw away. He was in a bright yellow top and running gear and said it was time to pull himself into shape again. I told him I might see him running round the hills. Wishful thinking. I’m not the kind of woman to even consider participating in the rupture of an existing relationship, which is often how people come together, or not, as the case may be. Not, as is the case with me. Several people I know have met a significant other while they were already in relationships. What about me? Why not me? I am good enough and I have a hell of a lot to offer. Yellow t-shirt man is attractive and personable but clearly out of bounds. I wouldn’t say I’m actively looking at the moment but I’m always on the lookout, like several single women I know. What is this need, this urge for a man? It isn’t just sex. I love my close female friends but I don’t half miss the balance a male figure adds to the mix.
A social media quote I like from this week’s crop
I desperately need a new mattress. After a quick online search, all I see now on social media are adverts of attractive couples enjoying sidesplittingly hilarious pillow fights on pristine queen beds, their hair perfectly teased and tousled, sporting crisp linen clothing hot off the ironing board. There’s not a coffee stain in sight, no crease or crumb to be found. I might shelve the mattress thing for the time being. Don’t singles deserve good beds too? The world of social media is no place for a single woman, I can tell you.
Seriously? Hellish temptation for a beach loving lover of sleep
A spur of the moment decision this week was to have proper swimming lessons, so I’ve booked a block of 8 weeks starting on Wednesday. The teachers and I had a quick chat and A put me in the intermediate/advanced group. She knows how I work in aquafit and aqua bootcamp so it was reassuring not be put in the absolute beginners group. They asked what I wanted out of lessons. I want to feel confident in the water, develop my strength and technique, be able to swim with my head underwater, do breaststroke and crawl efficiently, and breathe correctly. Not much to ask then! A wanted to observe me do breaststroke for a length so off I went, steamy goggles glued on, ready for the worst. It felt amazing to have my head underwater again after all these years. It was an almost claustrophobic feeling of freedom, with all external life blocked out by the water.
I can see clearly now
I loved swimming as a kid and one of the highlights was winning my badges for swimming various distances and having my trophies hand stitched onto my bottle green costume by Mam. Like most mothers, she just wanted to make sure I’d stand a chance of survival if ever I found myself in deep water.
My technique needs work and I feel excited about improving my swimming. When I told C I’d started lessons, she said a word I’m still toying with – triathlon. I’d need to practice a lot though. I’m not that keen on cycling and I can’t fix punctures either. I have wonky hips from playing. When I swim, my right foot goes the wrong way after years of pedalling behind the harp. It means I can’t swim in a straight line yet. That could be my USP.
I’ve taken on an orchestral gig at the beginning of August. The work takes place over 2 days and it ticks a few boxes, so I’m going to have to slim down my routine and be a bit more disciplined about my practice, and refuse any extra shifts on offer. The other night I played for almost 2 hours and it really felt fantastic. There was a sense of freedom and I actually sounded quite good, even if I say so myself. I played the music I love rather than music I have to learn for money. I’ll have more of that please.
You may well question why my focus has shifted from music to exercise. I expended so much on music to the detriment of many other facets of my life. Music was my reason for getting up in the morning. Exercise is an excellent substitute and I’m optimistic it will lead me along a healthier path. The feeling after exertion in either discipline is similar and exercise just happens to be more accessible to me now. I’m still an addict, whether my chosen substance is adrenaline or endorphins. Either of those are better than alcohol. Just give me my next fix!
Apologies for the gruesome nature of this image but look what the cat dragged in! She isn’t a natural hunter. Squirrel surprise…
P.S. Sunday afternoon – today’s shift? I nailed it… Have a happy sunny Sunday, dear readers 😎
What a day this has been. What a swell mood I’m in, and it’s almost like being in love with life again. My day started beautifully with a 20 minute 2.2km run (yes, you read that right, this former heavy smoker/binge drinker never-exercised-in-her-life couch-potato) around the reservoir.
Yesterday evening I had another stunning res run, more of an indulgent 4km dawdle really as I took in the flora and fauna and the incredible scenery I’m so lucky to have right here on my doorstep.
Sunday – stormy weather. Spot the lapwing
I’m still incredulous at the effect physical exercise has on my mental state. On Monday, I was flaky to say the least. Forgetful could periodically become my middle name – did I mention I left my house keys in the door overnight recently? My mood dropped on Saturday night as I felt worse and worse about myself and became isolated, condemning myself to seemingly endless hours of solitary confinement. It’s all about work really. I had a rough shift with rude obnoxious drunks (talk about pot/kettle/black – I feel a sense of regret, even though I was labelled a funny drunk and mainly drank alone at home) and I keep letting work affect me. I’m in a transition phase in which I miss music so much but I no longer crave the lifestyle I often enjoyed 5 years ago. I don’t want to sit in my car for hours on end. I don’t want to stress out about not being offered work. I have no ambition whatsoever to be Principal Harp with an orchestra. I want to share my love for music and creativity in different ways, through performance, teaching and perhaps writing. Maybe it’s normal at this stage in my life where I’m probably peri-menopausal. As I review my life and my choices, I regret a few things which I realise come down to living quite a nomadic life. Yes, I’ve travelled a lot. I’ve seen some amazing places and lived some life changing experiences, but I was always so focused on my work that my personal life was left by the wayside. I was never really a tourist at my destinations.
True, that Who’s that?
As I approach one big L of a birthday benchmark, living my life to its fullest has become my priority. I want to enjoy myself. I want to have fun. I want to meet new people. I’d love to meet a significant other. I want to finish my house off and get it looking and feeling like the dream home I envisioned when I bought it eight years ago. It might yet happen. I can see it a lot of the time, more and more as I write. Words become flesh.
Combining business with pleasure really works for me. This morning’s run took place before my 4 hour Wednesday shift. I saw oystercatchers and curlews and the weather was wonderful. I got so excited about my day! I had my long awaited picnic in the sun and basked barefoot before heading for the bakery scented air-conditioned shop. My mood dwindled gradually as the endorphins rushed away and by the 4th hour, my focus was drifting big time. I made a mistake, at least I thought I’d made a mistake. I’m still not sure but to be on the safe side, I called the manager and ‘fessed up. At the end of my shift I was called into the office by the other manager as he started his shift. We discussed events, and I felt worse and worse as I tried to make sense of the contributing factors which led to my hesitation. Dear readers, I cried. I couldn’t help it. It was out of guilt at the knock on effect my error has on others. I admit I’m slow and I lack confidence because I truly am a bit out of my depths. I feel like a fish out of water. Shop work isn’t my ideal job and I don’t think I’m cut out for it, but it’s a hell of a lot better than being on the dole and sponging off the state. I’m enjoying learning new skills and I LOVE meeting people, engaging with them and if I can and if it’s appropriate, bringing some cheer into their day. I suppose they call it work because it’s just that. Unfortunately, I find it hard to see it as just that.
I processed things before collapsing in a sleepy heap on the sofa for an hour and I decided to leave it all at the shop. I’m not carrying that round with me until my next shift. I likened my situation to that of let’s say an unmusical manager having a hundred hours of harp lessons and having to play for a wedding. I rest my case.
I have no playing work until the end of August (make that the end of July actually – oops!) which gives me ample time to sort my shit out and do some serious planning around my creativity and the life I want for myself. In many ways, I’m lucky not to have the burden of children but that brings with it an almost all consuming engulfing sense of emptiness. My cat is great company but she can’t satisfy most of my needs.
Thumping the pavements and grass verges around the village and its environs gives me headspace, and the meditative state I enter is a very positive addiction. I WANT to get up in the morning. I still feel fear around getting lost, falling and failing but that soon passes with the passionate pumping of my increased heart rate. I used to avoid exercise out of fear for my hands and feet. Breaking something would mean loss of income and not surviving. That’s gone and I mock myself a bit as encouraging phrases like “she galloped gazelle-like past flaming gorse on a scramble through burnished broom, brazen bramble and nettle” stream through my head, huffing and puffing, red-faced with exertion. When it’s not words, it’s music and lyrics. Just now, I was preparing a hard boiled egg for lunch and “Peel It” by Michael Jackson popped into my ears. It’ll be there all afternoon if I’m not careful! Does it ever stop? I’m not sure and I find that reassuring. I’m learning to manage my creativity in new ways. I’d say my resilience is at an all time high.
In the pool last night, I watched my buddy C get out and ogled her sculpted left buttock. She goes to spin class. Hmmmmm. I wonder when I could fit spin in…
I just got back from a 36 hour flying visit to Wales for a family funeral. To say that a funeral is an emotionally charged occasion is an understatement. Myriad memories of the deceased are relived. A panoply of tales are told with a twinkle in the storyteller’s eye.
My Aunt was a character and a half, and then some. She shone very brightly. She was totally bonkers. Nice bonkers of course. The cars lining the leafy b-roads leading to the crossroads where the tiny chapel is situated told the tale of her popularity. She was a much loved woman.
Clever! Did I mention the chapel was rural?
There weren’t enough pews for everyone. Her friends and acquaintances overflowed into the vestry, where the funeral tea was served afterwards.
On our way up, I pleaded for a pitstop at the bakery in town as I desperately needed a little something to keep me going before the funeral. My family went ahead without me as I wolfed down my scalding hot crispy savoury snack in the car. It was a significant improvement on the mass produced slightly anaemic sausage roll I got at the services the day before, but that filled a gap. My hunger meant I had to go into the small intimate chapel on my own. My worst nightmare! There was no room for me until my considerate cousins cosied up. I breathed a sigh of relief as I nestled in.
It was quite a long service and a loving tribute to our Annie. A storm was forecast, rendering the chapel airless and stuffy. After the vicar greeted us, the service started with the singing of one of my favourite hymns, Calon Lân. The organist played beautifully for almost an hour as we congregated in the chapel. The singing was heartfelt and most definitely Welsh. There’s always a welcome in the hillsides. Music was a focal point and the service was brought to its close with a recording of a simple stunning male and female duo featuring some chromatic harmonisation that was very easy on the ear.
The wake was very busy and smalltalk was difficult with a crescendo of voices clamouring to find out the latest news. Tea always tastes exceptionally good at funerals, the piping hot brew served up from giant teapots soothing the souls of those who’d come to pay their last respects. Buttered bara brith and icing sugar dusted sponge cakes sweetened our sorrows and offered a metaphoric hug to mourners.
Mam was a bit subdued. Quite a few of her friends have passed away recently. She told me about one friend who had fallen, struck her head and died immediately. What a blessing, I thought to myself. If I had a choice, I’d like to go like that. No long debilitating agonising illness that robs me of any remaining dignity please. I’d like to be healthy and mobile with as many of my marbles as possible.
I got a bit upset just before I drove back. I didn’t see my eldest nephew at all and saw too little of the twins who had their own social agendas to attend to rather than mess about with their daft flaky aunt. It’s tough spending snippets of time with family to return home where I feel rather rootless at the moment. I have this feeling of stripping back the layers and being so very exposed and vulnerable as my defences are taken away one by one. Music, my safe hiding place, is less available to me at the moment and although I find some solace in writing and spending time safe in my nest up here in the attic, it doesn’t provide the same emotional and artistic nourishment that live performance does.
Eye spy. We had a nice chat
On Sunday I visited close friends on my way to Wales. Tea was brewed just as I arrived and we went to the local award winning chippy for a Sunday special of cod, chips and mushy peas with a side of order of battered gherkins. Wow, how good were they?! Tart and vinegary and just the right texture. Who’d have thought? Small tubs of ice cream were on special offer and although they weren’t nearly as nice as the ice cream we had in Sardinia, dark chocolate won. I rein it in but I’d fight over ice cream. Sundae spoons were drawn after noon.
Wanting to spend as much time engaged with other humans as I could, I was dismayed to be overcome by postprandial fatigue. My consolation was that it was the kind of situation where I could whip off my boots, dangle my feet over the end of the sofa, put my sunglasses on and comfortably go into a deep coma for half an hour. Never mind FOMO, it would have been rude not to!
There was a cracking golden red yolky sunset when I left town this evening and as I drove up towards home, it was into mist, but that summery sort of mist that brings with it good weather. Lord knows, we need it. I swapped this afternoon’s shift with one of my colleagues so I could attend the funeral, so I’ve got a double whammy 8 hour shift on Wednesday. Sunshine wouldn’t half sugar coat those hours. It is what it is, and I wouldn’t have it any other way!
I love/hate funerals. They’re a poignant excuse for a family get together. “Why don’t we meet more often?” were words I heard again and again at the wake.
Good evening dear readers, or should that be good morning? I’m away but I wanted to share a couple of images of some rare bits I collected today. In essence it’s a free evening, so I can blog, even though it’s just on my mobile. Not such a technophobe after all, eh?
Services 40 minutes from home. I told them it’s a good job I don’t work there, I’d be spending all my time in here.
Beautiful peonies from my garden, their huge heads almost as big as mine
And it’s the Summer Solstice dear readers, so I have no words today, only images from a blissfully sleepy Thursday off doing very little. Any other readers out there off on a Thursday?Wishing you a wonderful weekend with moments to just be 🤗😍🤩💥
Bruno Catalano – Les Voyageurs, Marseille. Mind the gaps?
Play is an evocative word. Even as responsible adults, or maybe especially so, play features less than when we were in our youth, but play is crucial for our physical, mental and spiritual health and wellbeing.
You can play in the sun and in the snow, and you can play in the rain. In fact, one of my favourite things is putting my wellies on in Winter and splashing through muddy puddles and getting a bit mucky. It feels naughty and rebellious, and anticipating a telling off before getting cleaned up and warm again is all part of the fun of that playtime.
Some words that conjure up play for me are: beach, sea, water, sand, cinema, popcorn, ice cream, food. Food. Now that’s a fundamental one for me as I live to eat and I love cooking and baking. I’d rather shop for food than clothes. Clothes shopping definitely isn’t play, it’s not my idea of fun.
We all have very contrasting ideas of what play and fun is. Last week a lovely Finnish couple stared at me confusedly when I asked if they had their loyalty card handy. I hadn’t yet heard they weren’t locals or fluent in English. With their limited vocabulary, they went on to explain they’d come to town for the Last of the Summer Wine Experience. Can you imagine that? A vintage bus trip around town visiting locations from the series followed by supper at Compo’s chippy wouldn’t be my idea of fun. For this couple, it might have been the highpoint of their holiday.
The other day, yet another grey great big fat fucking miserable rainy June day, I was so fed up I decided to wear my bikini instead of underwear. That was fun. I was transported back to the beach where I experienced a few magical moments of blissful ease and carefree abandon as I gazed out at the azure blue sea and basked in the warm sunshine.
Bikini. It’s suntan lotion
At the shop much of the food has a playful theme. Fun sells. Despite the weather, picnic goods are strategically positioned next to barbecue equipment, hinting that Summer is definitely on its way to Yorkshire. Branding and product naming is big business and companies play on our inability to handle boredom, emptiness, solitude and hunger. Joy Fills. Tony’s Chocolonely. Feast. Magnum. Not sure what that’s about but if it could make Tom Selleck appear, that would be rather nice thanks.
Play is a very musical word too. One plays music on an instrument. But in order to enjoy playing, you have to put in hours of often gruelling practice to reap the reward of sharing your expressive fun with an audience. That was a notion I genuinely struggled to get my younger students to grasp.
My cat Llwyd, basking beneath the hedge in the sun
Look at my cat. She’s just turned 16. In human years, that’s about 84. She’s not in the best health and she has a liver condition but she’s still young at heart and on several occasions throughout the day, she has mad moments where she goes a bit nuts. She runs after a scrunched up piece of discarded scrap paper like a lunatic, rolls on her side and air kicks the rug. Breathless after her energetic aggressive exertion, she looks around with the expression of a creature that was just possessed by an unknown force. And maybe that’s what we need so as to access our playful fun side. The opportunity to just say fuck it and do inanely insane silly things without worrying about the consequences.
I think it comes down to honouring that instinctive authentic free spirit that resides in each and every one of us, whether we’re 48 or 84.
What does play mean to you? How do you express your playfulness?
Today was a good day. I’m feeling quite insular and introverted and that’s ok. Feeling that I should do this, ought to behave like that, that I should be as people expect me to be, puts on an immense pressure. In the past, people have insinuated that I’m a bit manic at times. So what if I am? I feel things to extremes and I’m ok with that. It just seems that others aren’t ok with the times I don’t fit into their moulded expectations of how I should be. What goes up must come down, or at least hit a plateau. I have highs and lows and I’m glad of them most of the time. Heavens forbid a neutral flat line.
I spent most of the day out and about with my thoughts. There were very few moments of anxiety and by managing my time (leaving plenty of time to get to my meeting), any tension was reduced. I’m not keen on big cities these days, especially not at peak times, but I do love the indulgence of not having to sit daydreaming in my car on the motorway. Daydreaming on public transport is preferable and it’s still a novelty except in rush hour. Not much is a novelty then with the jostling of elbows and grumpy commuters.
I went for lunch on Sunday with 2 other women. I was very tired and I admit I wasn’t riveting company. I had three intentions – to be sociable, eat and leave. Apart from good food, it was a bit disappointing. I wasn’t able to engage. I don’t know these women very well and I would love to have more men in my life. I’m not a fan of smalltalk at the best of times. Spoken word is a bit of challenge. I’m a bit shy with strangers and I find it difficult to articulate my thoughts, preferring the safety and reflection of the written word. Perhaps it was fatigue, maybe it was because I’d been surrounded by sometimes deafening sounds and music on Sunday, but the conversation was like listening to white noise and I couldn’t identify with anything they were talking about. After lunch we started to meander meaninglessly around town, hovering awkwardly to watch a parade. I like to move and walk fast. The heavens opened and I politely made my excuses. Besides, I had just one more deadline that evening, and by 7.30pm, I knew I could just press the pause button.
I crave physical and emotional intimacy. I know I’m capable of feeling and sharing both these qualities and I think it’s a basic human need. We weren’t created as solitary entities. Thing is finding the right person. For me, that’s someone warm, funny and communicative with quite a lot of patience who is kind yet firm. Someone challenging yet supportive who encourages growth together. They’re out there, it’s a question of finding them. It’s an ongoing personal battle.
Reading back over this, I’m aware I sound like a right miserable c**t and nothing could be further from the truth. I have my moments. Don’t we all. I’m aware my birthday’s coming up and I’ve even started to think about Christmas. Fuck. I swear they’ll be an improvement on last year. Neither occasion was bad, just average. I want memorable please, for the right reasons.
I do miss music. I rarely listen to music at home these days, preferring the hum of my fridge and the soothing hypnotic tick tock of the clock. I can no longer justify my former refuge, my haven, my safe place. For now. I would love to make music the focal point of my world again. I miss minding the gaps between the notes. In the meantime, I’m enjoying the expressive safety of writing.
Good evening dear readers! I’ve set myself a challenge to write a daily blog every evening I’m free, so here goes! I won’t win a Nobel prize, but that’s not the point of the exercise!
Today was a bit of a wash out, a damp squib for the most part. Like every Monday, it started with a mad splash at the pool. It was a brilliant workout, feeding and freeing my mind, body and soul, and I pushed very hard as usual. The weather’s been so hideous that I’ve been unable to face any of the walking or running I’d planned, wellies or no wellies. Life is damp. Drab. Grey. Sodding sodden. I’ve been so busy with playing work, and that’s taken over my life, something I would have embraced wholeheartedly (like everything I do) two years ago, but since I made some major changes in my life, what used to feed me now zaps my energy. I can no longer afford the indulgent 4 hour practice marathons I love so much. What used to be my playground (orchestral playing) feels like a torture chamber more often than not these days. I got on a bit of a downer after the concert. There were several friendly familiar faces from the past and I remembered the good times. I heard the compliments about my playing and took them on board even though my confidence in my playing was questionable.
After my class, I rushed home to wolf down my breakfast before giving a lesson. Lesson time came and brought no student with it. After 20 minutes I texted. She’d forgotten. Leave it, I thought to myself in a karmic peaceful frame of mind as I conjured up a thousand useful ways to fill an hour and a half. I looked at Facebook for 5 minutes and then I slept.
As the day went on, I got a bit more agitated about the missed lesson. I received a very sincere apology and a request to make another time this week please. The thing is, if I’m going to maintain any sort of practice routine, I don’t have time for her before the beginning of July. The other thing is that I had a new student who would have willingly taken the musician’s hour I’d allocated my present student. There was no offer of payment either. Easy come, easy go.
I didn’t want to go to work. I was in a mood for staying in under the covers. I reminded myself of the challenge of trying to crack a smile from as many customers as possible. Today however, the tables were turned. I was in a bit of a daze, in proficient autopilot mode at the tills. The few customers who approached the counter beaming sunny smiles despite the downpours were welcomed most openly, and I feasted on their positive energy. A week ago, I was the one giving out the cheer. Today I was more than happy to be on the receiving end, and I was equally happy to share that fact. Happiness goes in circles.
Goldfish bowlTorrentially distorted
One of my preoccupations is loneliness and I spend a lot of time alone. I’m usually comfortable in my own company but at the moment it can be a challenge with only myself to bring me down. Some of my core issues are being addressed as I relinquish past shackles and create a new life for myself. There’s an opportunity for change and growth and it feels urgent to seize that with both hands. I started doing some deep work on myself a couple of months ago and things came to a head in my last session in which I basically cried, talked and listened for an hour. I had been so relentless, so caustically tough on myself to the point of numbness. In a safe environment at last, the floodgates opened. What a fucking relief! How cathartic tears can be and that session was priceless. Being kind to myself is my biggest challenge and I’m predisposed to giving myself a jolly good hiding given half a chance. I don’t need or deserve that anymore and I know full well how hard it is to shake, break, smash old ingrained habits.
Stock take. Is it chocolate for lonely people? Who cares, it’s Fair-trade!
Ever the optimist, before work, I put my laundry out having seen a clear forecast. Maybe I read the forecast for Seville by mistake. Yes, I have that city on my weather app! I’ve wanted to go for ages, and one day I will. Seville and Granada too. And Valencia again, for more than 24 hours next time, and Bilbao and San Sebastian. So yes, definitely Spain. France too. Biarritz, just for the sake of the name.
Desperate to get back home for a brew and a run, but in a bit of a bingey mood, I did some shopping after work. (When I faced up the chilled wines during my shift, I noticed a bottle of Spanish rosé I used to be keen on and remembered the feelings that drink evoked. In my imagination, drinking it was like spending a night in Spain. I wasn’t bothered about the taste as much as the feeling.) I had 3 things on my list. I ended up with 18 items in my basket, including the above haul in a moment of weakness. I’ve seen customers buy vast quantities of sweet stuff to brace themselves against the bitter June chill, and we’ve definitely shifted more family packs of chocolate for one than fruit since the weather turned sour. It’s nearly bedtime and I haven’t had any of it. It’s all about having it there, just in case.
Beautiful peonies from my garden, their huge heads almost as big as mine
Rare Bit Blogging 