Walking is my drug.

Todays soup was leek and potato without the potato, I used flagelot beans instead.
I was joined by Allie Stewrat, so called by a misprint, should have read Stewart….
The old man is soldering silver goblets together, they were as black as tar having spent decades on my mothers shelf hidden by gew-gaws and worthless trinkets. I spent this morning rubbing them with Brasso and shining them, I waited for the Genie but all I got was blackened fingers.
I collected a pile of stuff from my mothers flat yesterday. Loaded up the bamboo shelves, trolley and kick step ladder. Loaded up several fallen angels and bowls and mugs and pictures of me and my brother, photos of the family we were all stuffed in brown envelopes.
I loaded up her crocheted blanket which she had crafted herself, I piled her coats and scarves into the car. Left with everything at 2.30 and with the wind and angels behind me arrived home at 4.00
The old git complained when he walked in, the floor covered with worthless crystal vases and a box of chocolates from my mothers neighbour, 24 years of living spread over the carpet.

Today I intended going to Brighton to fit up her room but the dishwasher is still working on her grubby glasses and I need to be in the right headspace to convince her that, just like Celine and Leon, her life really will go on. I understand how hard it is for her to let go even if she cant remember much of her recent past.
The wind has whipped up and the temperature has dropped. I have two heaters on in the studio, Bach is singing out his Brandenbergs and my stomach is rumbling from a coffee and pumpkin bar, neither of which has done me any good at all.
I ducked out of the debate at Westminster, last Wednesday feeling too ill to sit in a chair let alone chair a debate. The ‘Bite The Ballot’ evening was a huge success I am happy to say.
But having to pull out finally galvanised me to stop the ‘Metformin’. It does not work for me l felt like I had a steel plate in my head. The nausea and the drowsiness mid afternoon was too much. I’ve been off them since Friday and I am beginning to feel myself again.
It will take as long as it takes to get the horrible drugs out of my system but I am no longer going hot and cold, I am no longer wired or irritable. I am no longer a slave to something that I don’t understand. They may have helped me, if nothing else they have put me back on the road to recovery. I’m sure they help many but for me working with Clever Trevor ( Silvester Quest Institute) and Errol Denton (Microscopist) I feel in control again. Yes of course it has to do with my mother being in a safe place but it may have something to do with the drugs scaring me to death.
I can see colours again and smell the air. I felt like I was bandaged up when I took them. Early this morning I walked round the houses. The pheasants chuckered and the cows stared at me with those huge brown eyes they have.
I walked fast and furiously to get my body temperature up and made various rhymes to get my head back into shape. Actions involved slapping myself on the back and pointing my arms up in the air. My fave today was;
‘I’m roamin’ I’m walkin’ I don’t need ‘Metformin’.’
But my real fave is;
‘Walking is my drug, walking is my drug,walking is my drug give yourself a hug.’
Which I did several times as the donkey brayed in the next field. I’m slowly adjusting to country life, the smell of earth, the dark nights, the home made soup and the fact that the old ma is but 40 minutes away.
Clearing her flat is traumatic. Packing a life up into boxes and bags is no way to end 89 years on earth.
It is a sobering thought that her dairies, letters, poems, were written for herself. Who else will read them now – only me. Her thrill at old buddies getting in contact with her, her pride in the scrap book of my early triumphs as a schoolgirl actress, her pride in my brothers paintings. Four pewter mugs with my fathers name engraved on them.
They divorced after 45 years of marriage yet she kept two bowls one with her name on and one with his.
I loaded up the car and pushed the trolley, which was balanced on the front seat, one inch too far. A bag fell out of the open passenger door. Only one thing shattered – the bowl with my fathers name on it.
I’m going in now to empty the dishwasher, fingers crossed I haven’t broken any more of her memories.

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