Misty clouds and thunderstorms

7.15 and it feels like midnight in Tibet. The sky is heavy, the thunder a rumbling over the fields and misty clouds are settling on the tree tops.
It’s been one of them days. I listened to Russel Brand yesterday on Desert Island Discs and re-fell in love with the man.
This morning I listened to Maria Freidman on Radio 4. She played her 2 inheritance tracks. The one that was left to her and the one she would pass onto her family. For the love of Mike I cant remember her first track but the second song was ‘BESS YOU IS MY WOMAN’, I lay in my big bed, the clouds assembling and cried and cried and cried.
She talked about LOVE, after all that is all there is in the end.
She talked about the song the shape of it, the depth of it the feel of it.
I love that woman.

The tears still wet on my cheeks I took to the fields for my vigorous exercise. The blue linseed fading. The big, lavender Scabious heads drooping in the sun, their season nearly over.
Kissed my tree and marched through the dry grass and million year old rocks.
200 paces up the hill, I pounded the road with a vengeance happy in the knowledge that I shall live to 94 and be a grandmother three times over….How do I know this? I don’t I’m merely speculating.
Then through my field. The buzzing of bees past my ears, my personal sound of summer. One big black beetle scuttled past me and three black butterflies flew into the blackberry bushes. Three tiny toads hopped their way into the hedgerow and my childhood came flooding back that elusive smell of summer, like a Cretian grove in the early morning, the sun drying the dew off the sweet smelling grass.
I did my exercises in the garden and dripping with sweat finally gave myself 20 minutes of peacetime. I meditated facing East, legs crossed and eyes closed.
Into the attic to do some wheeling and dealing on the internet. I am trying to raise money for two projects. Fingers crossed please.
The rain is pouring out of the sky my peas, beans,lettuce, kale, spinach, courgettes, and fading raspberries wont know whats hit ’em.
I’m taking the girl to the Wheatsheaf pub to meet with her school friend. Yesterday she performed at WOMAD. The first time to a festival crowd. It wont be the last for her I hope.
Yesterday I had to have a smear test. Too much info, I know, but Nurse Baxter said she couldn’t find my cervix.
I texted my writing partner in Paris to ask whether she had inadvertently packed it in her bag
Nurse Baxter found it in the end in the middle of a conversation about publishing and age.
HELP ME. I am not allowed to eat after six. How do I get through the evening without oatcakes, hummus crisps, bowls of cereal and whatever else I can lay my teeth into. What do you do after 6.00?
Keep it clean please.
xx