This may be brief! Really not in the mood to write tonight but, once again, I have little room to breathe. Confined spaces are not for me. Never have been. Enforced confined spaces, then, are, quite simply, unpalatable!! Add ‘cell mates’ – regardless how close or cherished – and stress levels sore! Mind you, you know me and my love of people … Growing up, my bedroom was my sanctuary and I used to spend hours in it whether listening to music courtesy of my precious red record player, daydreaming, writing letters, reading, whatever. I just needed that time on my own away from everybody else. Always have. Always will. It’s inherent. Actually, I nearly included chatting to friends on the phone but there were no mobile phones, then, just landlines – and not even the cordless variety! Thus, the downstairs phone was in the study and, the one upstairs, in my parents’ bedroom. If I wanted to chat in peace, that’s where I’d be but Pop was forever on my back and many’s the time we fell out as he would stand in the doorway and instruct me to come off the phone at once! I wanted the ground to swallow me up!
So it is that I always end up writing at night. I do love the peace. Everybody else is winding down or in bed and that is my favourite time to think. Thing is, the stillness is enticing and I lose all concept of time. I could, quite happily, stay up all night but, ultimately, am programmed not to do so. Checking my Google Analytics, there is a breakdown of daily times when readers are online showing frequent evidence of activity in the early hours. A reminder that one has no clue as to the habits of anybody else behind closed doors. Well, let’s face it, Elvis was nocturnal, Michael Jackson enjoyed sleepovers and good old Maggie, apparently, needed no more than four hours nightly! I rest my case.
Three hundred words of nothing. Surely, that could be construed as a gift?! Manny had me watching more of The Grand Tour, this morning, as we contemplated life. Those, three, do make me laugh … We had adopted a bit of a routine, over the past week or so, and I am going to miss it. Manny would be up first and make his coffee in the cafetière – which he savoured as an accompaniment to his customary toast with peanut butter and honey – and then I would join him, starting my day with my habitual two mugs of hot water – one at a time! Often, we would watch an episode of Ben Fogle: New Lives in the Wild, recognising the courage of those who opt out of the rat race whilst understanding the desire. There’s a part of both Manny and myself which would love nothing more than to opt out! Where would I choose, though? Perhaps a log cabin in Montana or an alpine chalet in the mountains of Austria. One thing’s for certain, there would have to bemountains. I find that interesting. As I have said before, I think people fall into two categories: beach or mountain. What, in turn, does one’s natural allegiance say about one’s character? I have my own thoughts but, put it this way, pre-booked sun loungers and fake tan have no association with mountains – if one gets my drift.
Becca would, eventually, surface and the peace was gone! She loves nothing more than to goad and that is anything but relaxing. However, the three of us brushed along together – Manny, frequently, the peace maker – and we enjoyed many walks to the beach or to my old haunts. In the evenings, Manny revelled in chef duties whilst savouring a beer or two. Becca would, admirably, enjoy one gin and tonic and I would be upstairs, writing, with my glass of water. What’s so funny? Anyway, suffice to say, Manny returned to Edinburgh and his flat, today, and it is not only the fridge which is empty! So weird. This self-isolation is having a strange effect. Just got used to having him around, I suppose …
A quick peruse of my notes and I have to mention the eggs! We have this wooden hen in the kitchen, which sit in the middle with holes for eggs surrounding it. Anyway, I regularly fill it up – Becca has two eggs for ‘breakfast’ every day. In replenishing said egg holder, however, it never ceases to amaze me her selection of eggs each day: in a word, random! Never consecutive and totally devoid of logic. What does that say? One here, one there, why not two together? Just, why? Never mind beaches and mountains, add eggs to the list!
Do you know, walking on the beach this evening, I told Becca that, if I could paint, I would depict her in her grey joggers/jammy bottoms with a huge bottle of tomato ketchup beside her! She, in return, told me that her representation of me would be a huge mouth in the foreground, a giant exclamation mark and somebody asleep in the corner. Touché! We’re getting along famously, as one can tell …
‘They say I get into too many bunkers but is no problem. I am the best bunker player!’ Seve.
This is Trish, signing off – winging it!
(To think I wrote almost 900 words and never mentioned that it was April Fool’s Day! Definitely losing it.)