I had a to-do list as long as my arm, a fist full of targets I aimed to hit. Blogs to write, a chapter to round off with a fabulously witty, cliff-hanging situation, maybe even victory in the battle of the dandelions. I was there, finish line with in my grasp: “My head hurts.” Small2 moaned as she zoomed through the kitchen and up the garden via the swing and slide. There was no point in shouting “Sit down for a bit.” She couldn’t hear me. Small2 does everything (apart from eating) at top speed, so, within 20 minutes she’d turned a simple headache into a raging fever.
We spent the next day in the dark because whilst it was dark Small2 couldn’t sleep. Apart from the odd sortie to the bathroom to wash off regurgitated penicillin, we sat motionless on the sofa watching Disney’s back catalogue, I’m frozenly word perfect, if I sing along one more time I may scream, and no, I don’t want to build a snowman.
Although born part sloth, I struggle with stillness. I need air, even if that air is making like rain (again). Stuck inside making endless rounds of toast and tea, with everything coated in a sticky layer of Calpol and the air thick with sick and bleach, all I can think of is when can I get some sleep? Sitting still makes everything ache in a post-Parkrun way. What I really need, is to be out running. When I run (however much it looks like I’m walking) my brain de-mists, occasionally an idea pops into it. Sometimes I’m able to untangle plot-lines and the angst and everyday rubbish that gets in the way of inspiration, sods off for a bit.
After 48 hours stagnating in front of the telly I witness first-hand the super powers of Penicillin. Small2 has made a miraculous recovery. She’s up and off, charging around the garden in a tiara and wellies singing a Million Dreams, maybe running has the same effect on her as it does with me…
Work on my At Maria's project is jogging along nicely. If you fancy a peep you can follow the weekly blog here: www.mariaandhelen.co.uk
Off on hols, home for hols, whatever, if you fancy a gripping, ghostly summer read....
The ghosts of a century’s worth of secrets and betrayals are coming home to Pengarrow…
Available to buy from: www.honno.co.uk
From The House With Old Furniture:
After lunch we walked round the harbour wall, along the cliff path and scrambled down to the little beach hidden from the town. Like teenage elopers we ran knee-deep into the sea fully clothed just because we could.