A headless woman looks at herself in the mirror

We went and sat in the sunshine at Polesden Lacey this afternoon. It was one of the most gorgeous and relaxing things to do on a summer's afternoon when the sun is out. Quintessentially English. There were even women in long dresses with wide brimmed hats, floating around just waiting for a vicar to play tennis with before tea. Not this one of course. Headless women aren't very good at tennis. But I loved this dress, which you can find in the (partly open) main house. And yes dear, the sequins were all sewn on by hand (I overheard one of the volunteers giving an exposition about it). TSM has always loved Polesden but was a little less enamoured of it after we read a book in one of the rooms about the dodgy values of Mrs Greville, the hostess with the mostest anti-semitic views. Plus ca change ... This was the 'thirties when bizarre nationalistic ideas had taken root all over Europe, there was violence in the air, persecution was rife and the most unlikely characters were ending up in positions of power that they could abuse. Ring any bells?

The therapeutic journey

Very good day health wise, except for one telling moment. When we left Polesden there was one road pointing left to take us home and the other signposted right would take us about two miles to my workplace. I felt a knot in my stomach and when we got home I felt drained for a few minutes. So this is the $64k question: how do I transition back to normality and stay whole?