After yesterday I went into reverse and although the day was full of promise of warmth and sunshine I struggled to get going. A poem helped ... ‘a farther shore is reachable from here...’ and although I’m not a fan of hope and certainly can’t imagine any historical change going on on any grand scale on this particular door step, I thought I might manage to muster a cup of coffee. And here I am, upright standing at the back door looking out on the birds feeding in an unusually warm sunny February garden.

As I looked I thought my ‘ideal hermit home’ (I went and drove past it yesterday) was probably pie in the sky and indicative of state of mind. But I also realised that this feeling of being in a constant earthquake zone since Friday’s telephone conversation is partly about sense of place, of security, home, of many things. Nothing feels secure. This is rented and could go any time. It holds everything. And nothing. Mum and dad’s is so complicated I can’t begin to get my head round it. To top it all, as I decided to get on with the day somehow I thought I’d better give the van a run. Dead as a dodo. The rest of the day was lost to getting it going again and then a long run to get it charged up. A pointless journey to nowhere in particular. Now if that isn’t a metaphor for life, what is?! ... ‘Believe in miracles, And cures and healing wells.’ I couldn’t stop for long in case the charge ran down again but I found a nice spot for a cuppa and then found the gas was faulty and very nearly gassed myself. That would have solved the whole lot in one fell swoop and shut me up, saving the world from all this drivel. Still, back to work tomorrow and it all goes on rather relentlessly. Must do better, buck up and all that.

(Today is now tomorrow...as I write. Didn’t do that good a job of bucking up).