For thirty-five years, I was a woman who would cling to the safe, the familiar, and have always been one prone to emotional clinginess…
Now? Three weeks ago, I moved house! I had to prise my own fingers away from that state of clinging terror – and let go…
Wow! On a beautiful day – wild, windy, splintering the crevices in high places with shards of January sun, the swelling breast of the Moon a seductive promise for tonight, Venus winking out love’s sublime ironies – I go through the complex ritual which connects router to phone and, Open Sesame, here I am once more!
I have now lived upon this high spot in Glastonbury, five minutes from the Tor, for three weeks and one day. Since I last wrote, Yule has been and gone, New Year has popped and crackled and whizzed and banged and my birthday has slid by for another twelve months.
I have been incredibly busy hefting, heaving and ho-ing, trying to get my house the way I want it: Allowing my imagination to stretch out and bathe the blank walls in the riotous colour of my taste; moving items of furniture around until they match the subtleties of inner vision – and delighting in this lovely space.
I have also been exploring my immediate area with Jumble – and, already, we have found several fine walks, all with lovely views and the chance for the hound to be let off his lead.
The idea was for Pippa, the rabbit, to free-range in the garden. Unfortunately, Ms Houdinia, as I now call her through gritted teeth, will find the tiniest exit hole and be next door before you can say ‘Watership Down!’ The problem with this is that one of the houses near mine is home to a vicious-looking book-end of white cats which laze along fence tops and eye up Pippa as if she were part of the take-away menu; that and the snarling wolf (er, dog) which howls nightly – and the promise of foxes, badgers and, for all I know, a nest of velociraptors – makes me a tad reluctant to let the Escapologist traverse afar!
Here’s some recent photos of me in the kitchen.
Happy New Year!