Rest?

It was supposed to be a restful day.

Sunlight cooked me up from sleep before seven and headnoise kept me moving. At twenty past I abandoned any plan I might have had of turning over to dreams again. Day off? Kind of. But I started writing invoices and planning jobs almost immediately. I’m sleeping on my own sofa if I’m home. It’s not ideal but I’ll be away a lot and I am in a patch where I need to bring in the money, and it’s nice to live with Tom. If I was organised I would have found a sofa bed or futon for the spare room. The pressure of council tax and service charge and all the hateful hikes means that I’m part of the vast mess of people who are having to think about the pennies. I’m staying pretty busy. But still, the outgoings are astronomical. It’s not fun, living in this country without a minister’s salary.

I was up and out of admin zone by noon. Invoices sent and planning done for a great big drive I’ve been asked to do. Then I had a big old day in front of me.

I’m not very good at doing nothing. Arguably I need to get better. Lou certainly would agree. Faced with a gap, I overfilled it. I carried a load of stuff to the lockup where I met Siwan. She looked through some of my friends mother’s clothes – they’ll be used in a short film, as will her teddy bears. Then I missioned it to Kirkaldy’s Testing Works to try and pin down whatever the heck we are doing. It’s clearer every time, but the more time on the floor the better. I’ve got the keys now, but they are trying to write the press release and I don’t want it to say wrong things. We have been spitballing and dreaming. Time to make it concrete. But which of the many options?

Thinking of this I went to Jethro’s and grabbed the bag I left at The Willow Globe. It was Martha’s birthday, his daughter. You can never have too many Libras. I gave her a half crown that happened to be in my glove compartment. I didn’t stay to see her reaction as you should never linger on gifts, particularly when you’ve literally pulled them out of the glove compartment. A gift is for the person, not for you. I marveled at the mycology that Jethro has successfully encouraged into his little urban garden. I would have thought woodchip cat litter wouldn’t encourage mycological diversity, but those buggers were thriving. He is magic, of course. So are you.

Then I drove to Waterloo where I helped Flavia carry a wardrobe upstairs and jiggle a load of other awkward crap around up and down all those stairs. It was as much a social call as anything else but she gave me back my congestion charge. It was glorious to see her, and I brought Mel so she could see Hex again. Flavia and Ivo have become wonderful snake keepers. It’s brilliant to see the little pudding so well kept. Another weight off.

Now I’m in Gypsy Hill. Tomorrow morning I’ll have to be in Forest Hill and this is most of the way there. My clothes from The Willow Globe are in the tumble drier and I’m writing while I wait. I’ll sleep in a bed tonight. Luxury. All is right with the world. But from… HOW DID I TAKE NO PHOTOS ALL DAY? grrrrrrr