The cottage is very quiet.
The only sound is the clock ticking behind me.
The smell of beeswax furniture polish lingers in the air, I polished the piano. Mr.Crouch, our piano tuner, came with his box of tricks , put on his apron, slurped one mouthful of milky tea and set about making my boudoir grand even grander.
The cat is caught between two cushions, comfortably slumped on the armchair.
The door is locked and the rain is still drip, drip, dripping.
I didn’t get to bed until 5.00 this morning. Try as I might I could not sleep. I tried lying on my left side, lying on my front, lying on my right side. Putting my arms over my head, under the pillow and on top of the duvet. I tried meditating, counting sheep and lying on my back whilst banging my toes together three hundred times. ( an old yogic practice I’m told). In the end a bowl of porridge with cinnamon and agave syrup sent me off.
I was wakened three hours later – phone call from brother.
An hour later – a phone call from the oosbind.
And hour late a call from the dawter.
I decided to stay in my bed until the rain stopped…….
I’m still processing the girls gig. The people that came, the people that didn’t come. The ones that bothered the ones that couldn’t. How comfortable she was in front of an audience, how lovely Robin her guitarist is, what a good night they gave us, the first of many.
In my sleepless hours I’d printed off nine pages of prayers for Darfur. Staggering how all the disciplines said the same thing. Peace, peace and more peace. I read them aloud and made myself cry.
So today I got up at 1.00.
Had a long bath, read Joanne Harris, then made supper whilst listening to Danny Baker.
Butternut squash soup, with turmeric and cayenne, a little coconut milk and a lot of garlic.
A big green salad with avocado and juicy tomatoes.
And my very own version of tarka dal.
Two different kinds of yellow lentils, garlic, tomato puree and whatever magic I can find in the spice cupboard, somehow it tastes like nothing else I know.
I had tea with an exceptional woman who never lets the grass grow under our feet,
And supper with an other exceptional woman who tells me stories that keep me moving.
23.59 and the washing up is done, all calls have been made and the only sound is the clock ticking.
The hands have just moved to midnight.
00.00 no time at all. 00.00 and for one minute there really is no time like the present.