Ivory Glowerers

And so the days turn into night and the heron stands on one leg.
Not haiku poetry, or a portent but the reality of my life.
I get up.
I meditate.
I run.
I wash.
I drive.
I talk for 3 hours.
I drive.
I eat.
I write.
I sleep.

Only today there was a big difference.
I spoke for 3 hours, about care for the elderly, culture for the rudimentaries, boobs for the gels and valentines for the boys and then…
My lovely agent met me in reception. We walked to the gated car-park where I dumped my head-phones and inadvertently locked my fob in the car, which I didn’t realise until 2 hours later.
But Rob and I took the purple line into town where we had a very high level meeting with a very high level woman who espied me from her high rung and, using just her eyebrows, reminded me that there is a place for everyone and that everyone is often put in there place.
I absented myself repeating my very own personal mantra which is, and always has been.
‘IF YOU CANT JOIN ‘EM BEAT ‘EM’.
Rob went his way and I mine, and just when I thought it was safe to go back into the abstract my agent of a thousands thoughts called me.
He reminded me that I shoot from the hip, don’t plough anybody elses trough and re-inforced my position in this mad industry of ours. When he said he loved me I balled.
After which I smiled and got the wonderful Irish door man to open up the gates of the car-park so I could drive home.
Then the daughter talked to me, the husband talked to me, the daily friends and mother talked to me, I made two vegetarian escallopes and green beans with butter and garlic, sat down in front of Coronation Street whilst calling my darling Sybil in Hollywood and rounded off a life affirming day.
We must all look after each other, we must fight for the right to get old and we must all keep on keeping on.
Thank you dear bloggers for blogging, thank you dear readers for reading, and thank you dear listeners for listening.
Tomorrow is another day, only it belongs to Valentino, so have a sweet one.
night night
and
cu2morrer.