Busy, busy ...

After the two lovely, open-air days of the weekend, today felt unrelentingly busy - all self-inflicted, but still ... Pilates to get me kick-started. It felt like a kicking this morning; I was tired and I needed coffee, but I have a rule that the coffee waits till after the exercise. A friend who was there for the first time in ages remarked that she felt headachey and strange, and blamed the coffee she'd had before she arrived. Still having problems with balance in the new venue, even after three weeks - and I'm not alone in this. At least I was there early enough to avoid the parking traumas of the past two weeks.

Family arrangements by phone and email followed, then lunch and a catch-up with the Sunday paper. However, I spent most of the afternoon on my poetry collection - visited the printer with my first draft, then took two hours to fiddle with margins, page allocation and an index of contents. Such a finicky task - move one line on page 1 and find that page 97 no longer fits. By the time I stopped to make dinner (Fegato alla veneziana) I was cross-eyed and stiff, but quite excited again, especially as the line art is coming through from my artist.

So now there's a chance I'll be in bed before midnight, if I stop wittering here. Blipping the opposite of busy - Argyll Street Dunoon at 3pm, snapped on my way from the Oxfam shop in Hillfoot Street which was crammed with parked cars defying every yellow line and pleading notice because no-one walks to meet their children from the Primary school these days... anyway, I'd been there and was on my way to the printer. The centre of town was dead, with all the life at the extremities. 

Bit like me tonight...