My Hands Fell Off And Then I Died, Sorry

Every time I think about writing a blog post I start to feel all nervous and guilty. Like my blog is a friend who has been calling and sending gently enquiring texts, and who I for some reason have been completely ignoring. All I really want to do is forget the fact that I have been off-radar for a bit and launch into a chat over a glass of wine, but I feel weird about the whole thing and so am just leaving it to become more and more awkward.

Excellently, because this is my blog and nobody really cares, I can just pretend I haven't be mysteriously absent and leap headlong about something I overheard on a bus today or an amusing rabbit anecdote.

Less excellently, I have neither been on a bus today nor encountered any rabbits.

It was my birthday the other week! Ben took me to Wales, where we stayed in a cottage and went pony trekking. My pony was called Peggy and seemed, if I am honest, a bit depressed. I tried to cheer her up by suggesting she come back with me to Manchester and be my best friend, but she just sort of shrugged and muttered something about not liking the accent, so I left it.

Our ponies trekked us along the beach, sinking hooves into the sand. I tried not to think about the scene from The Never Ending Story where Artax sinks into The Swamp of Sadness. (I just looked it up on youtube for reference, and couldn't even watch the whole scene. It is unbearable. I got to "Artax! You're sinking! C'mon! Turn around! You have to! Now!" and then had to turn it off. I would have then had to watched the bit with the flying dog to cheer myself up, and I really don't have time for that sort of thing. I am very busy.)

The beach was beautiful, though, helped by the glorious weather. Later on in the afternoon we saddled up our bikes and heaved ourselves over the hill to the next village. We found a quaint-looking pub amidst the slate-grey cottages, so we locked up and went in for a pint. Inside, the locals were playing dance music and getting loudly drunk. We sat at a picnic table on the patio, trying to ignore them and retain our urban notion of the rural idyll.

It was a perfect weekend, and I felt like I needed it. Plenty has been 'going on' recently, and it's been draining at times. I have felt quite overwhelmed, and it was wonderful to be able to relax and dream, and not have to make any effort. Things, family things mainly, have been happening.

It's all quite topsy turvy. No nine-to-five daily graft here! Flitting and rushing about on trains, at meetings and in workshops. Or holed up at my desk writing. Or staring out of windows feeling guilty about not writing. Or working in the café making frankly-still-not-up-to-scratch lattes. Or cello practice. Or staring out of windows feeling guilty about not doing my cello practice. Or worrying about money or cleaning the house or listening to/reading stuff "for inspiration". Or looking for music work. Or staring out of windows feeling guilty about not looking for music work.

Yeah. Staring out of windows has always been quite a key part of my existence, and I suspect that, as long as there is a window nearby, I will always find it for a bit of a stare.

I am going to finish this rambling and dull post, and make a resolution to post every day for a week.

There! I will start tomorrow.

I'd better go and look for some amusing rabbits.