Friday, breakfast and a delivery guy brings me the cold lay tarmac I ordered. Then I taxi my daughter to the train station before going to the bank in town to pay a cheque in. Of course I stop in Costa for a coffee and a lemon muffin on my own. I good experience and I am prompted to write a poem on a serviette. This is a good sign of life returning, of spaces in which to think and respond to the world around me. I go home and find I have a new bone scan appointment the day before my birthday. A quick rummage through the cupboards tells me what I need to get to make tomorrows evening guest meal. My partner and I make a dash to the big Sainsburys and gather up the missing ingredients before returning to work. My partner goes off to have her hair done and I head for the garage and the rower. I’m irritated and listless so I set the resistance to a higher level and set out to have a hard hours row. That’s exactly what happened with the result that I row a personal best.
I take a long bath with a bath bomb and let my back soak till it feels easy. I’m just about out when my partner returns and we eat. I give myself time to recover before clearing the kitchen and preparing Benedictine chocolate mouses for tomorrows meal. They sit chilling in the fridge. I return to the lounge and watch a film based on a true story of a Mexican orphanage team who won a marlin fishing competition, which used the prize money to pay off their bank debt and start a girls programme. Its time to fill my drugs wallet for the week and write the blog while the best of Glastonbury 1999 beats out on the TV.
