Oh no! It's almost half-way through March already. The year is almost over! I've organised no holidays, my life is vanishing before my eyes!
I do this every year. January drags by interminably, February comes and suddenly it's half-way through March and I have done exactly nothing all year. That I had planned on doing. Face it, the last six weeks have sucked. Big time. On Jan 25th I find out I haven't got a cancerous bump on my skull, but by Thursday 16th February, it's turned into an sebaceous cyst, which burst on the 24th. I catch The London Winter Cold on the weekend of the 19th and that stays with me for the next two weeks to he point where I even have a day's sick leave on the 22nd, and I'm still coughing a bit now. My back locks up and is painful between about Monday 8th February to about the 20th. I spent last week dazed on Night Nurse because how else was I not going to wake up at 01:00 hours coughing to clear my lungs? The weather has been grey, grey, grey. February sucked. Really. Sucked.
I've only just come out of it today. The weather was clear blue all day. I've been for a slow walk round Virginia Water, a pizza in Twickenham, a while sitting in a sun-trap corner of my garden reading a book on Leonor Fini I've had for ages, before giving the grass it's first post-winter cut and toddling off to see The Adjustment Bureau and falling in love with Emily Blunt. When I came out of the cinema, the sky was a hundred shades of sunset blue-green-orange-brown.
Which is what I call a day off. I'm still looking for holidays. I've tried looking at retreats. I'm getting the feeling that they are likely to be a bit, girly, well, middle-age womanly. On the other hand, if that means the usual hotel crowd stays away, put off by tales of yoga and self-revelation, maybe that's a plus.
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