Sunday, 31 July 2016

Days of Gratitude - The Loss of Towels And The Gaining of Oceans

Here goes, some more days of gratitude to bring you to the 210th day of the year.  It's been a struggle sometimes but I've still only missed posting on nine days.  And I started two days early.  So that's 203 posts I've shared in this blog - plus another eight when I filled in all but one of the gaps.

I am pretty amazed to still be doing this.  My usual commitment and dedication and discipline doesn't often last this long.  I know full well that the diary has been good for me.  And seeing the posts from other people has been good for me too.  All hail the happy group of the Sunday Assembly Newcastle!

Five more days of gratitude.  And they begin right away with things going wrong!  We planned something.  And then got to where we were going and found we couldn't do it.  Then we remade the day and it was good.  A broken plan is not the breaking of a world.

24th July

Grateful that when plans went wrong we remade them into something good.

25th July

Grateful that my bed awaits me tonight. Lots of sleep would be appreciated!

Grateful that there is much living to be done now I am back in Newcastle.

Winefride enjoyed the journey back. She was excited to have the front seat on the coach.

26th July

Grateful that most days I am not this tired. Grateful to have a bed and a sofa and easy access to luxuries like a kettle and tea.

And grateful that today Blob Thing went public with the news that he has a sister.

Here's his post:

The picture was taken in the play area in Rhiwabon. It was Winefride's first adventure outside and she seemed to enjoy it a lot.

Later we went into Wrecsam and popped into the Catholic cathedral, a place I had to go to when preparing to be confirmed as a Catholic in 2005. It's fair to say that it felt very strange to be back.

27th July

Grateful that on Monday, exactly two months after Towel Day, Amanda forgot her towel. A non-event in the history of home showering.

Image from…/wear-the-lilac-and-remember-your-towel/

Grateful for the place Douglas Adams has in my childhood.

And grateful that the forgetting of a towel, something solved with ease within a few seconds, inspired me to open up the word processor and write "She had forgotten her towel."

Yesterday I wrote some more and today I finished a draft version of a little story from that writing prompt. 3800 words. Even though the story had formed in my head on Monday, sometime during the coach ride home from Manchester. it took me by surprise.

Grateful to be allowing myself to write and that, whatever the results may be in the short and long term, I am finding joy in the writing.

28th July

Grateful to have been mentally able to leave the house after two days closeted safely indoors.

Grateful that plans can change so many times before reaching a destination.

That destination surprised me by being Alnwick even though I had been on the Metro to North Shields.

Charity shops to visit, Barter Books to browse and decide there wasn't anything I wanted to buy, and a free freshly made waffle covered in lots of strawberries, banana and blueberries - free in exchange for filling in a two minute survey about a museum I will probably never visit.

Winefride thinks the books are about cookery.  I am not going to correct her error.  She doesn't need to know about these things at her age.

Then the sea called and so I spent an hour in Alnmouth too. I want to go back there for longer and my head is planning walks.

Blob Thing and Winefride had a great time!

Saturday, 30 July 2016

Days of Gratitude - Ringing The Bells, Surviving Meltdown, And Meeting Friendly Policemen

Some more gratitude days.  I've nearly caught up.  Woo hoo!  If I could only catch up with the photo blogs of a couple of dozen days out then I'd be up to date.  It may never happen.  Catching up on posting photos is hard work when I'm doing my best to be busy taking them.

Anyway.  Here's another five days.  Parts of them were very difficult indeed.  On the Friday I'd forgotten to take my meds and wasn't feeling great anyway.  Everything combined and things got to be awful and I don't quite know how I managed to hold it together and get from a place I didn't know at all, through a housing estate I didn't know at all, to a bus stop which turned out not to have a bus going near anywhere I wanted to get to, and then through more roads I didn't know at all to a better bus stop and then catching two buses to get to a safe place.  The way my brain was I honestly don't know how I did it.

But there was lots of good too during those days.  And the last photo here still makes me laugh.

19th July

Very grateful to have returned to The Writers' Cafe. Great people, including some of those strange Sunday Assembly types! I think braving that setting will be very good for me.

Then grateful for lunch with a friend that extended to six o'clock.

And grateful too that in less than 48 hours I will be with this person, who was enjoying an even warmer day than us today.

20th July

Grateful for how good the 50p scone and 50p pot of tea were. And to have rung the church bells afterwards.

Grateful for being amused by the rubbish engraving on the gravestone of this shipbuilder.

Grateful for what this drug does for me and that I don't have to pay for it. They cost £300 each.

Grateful for the big surprises Blob's blog brought me when writing a couple of posts today.

And grateful that by tomorrow evening I will be in Salford.

Tomorrow I may be posting that I am grateful to have arrived.

21st July

Grateful for foxes in the morning.
For cheap local history books at lunchtime and fruit brioche from Aldi.

Grateful that I can afford to travel by Megabus.

Grateful to be with this person by the evening and to have made something special before bedtime.

[Yes, we made Winefride, a sister for Blob Thing.  He's still very excited.]

22nd July

Grateful to be in Manchester with Amanda.

Grateful to walk for a while. It was great for that while.

Then when things quickly went very wrong, oh happy brain, and a crappy old panic attack happened I managed to get things back together and get to safety from a point of not knowing what direction would lead me to a bus to anywhere.

For a while there it was bloody awful.  Very scary.  Very, very scary.

23rd July

Grateful for a deserted play area in Rhiwabon.

Grateful for it being the first day out for Winefride, who was born on Thursday 21st.

Grateful for happy sheep.

And grateful for friendly policemen who didn't mind having their pictures taken with small soft toys.

Friday, 29 July 2016

Days of Gratitude - Happy Pride. In Photographs and In Parades.

Here we are, five more days of my Sunday Assembly gratitude diary.

Some were very good.  And then by the end of the days, things weren't good.  That's life.  As my mother would say regularly, "It's all part of life's rich tapestry."

But the first day was good, even though the walk went a bit wrong.  The footpath that I was trying to follow for part of it doesn't exist anymore.  It's been swallowed by a rapidly expanding opencast mine and nobody thought that it might be an idea to divert the public footpath round the mine.  I tried my best to adjust but ended up somewhere I hadn't wanted to be and then had to spend an hour walking along busy roads in order to get back to my route.

It was well worth it though - those last 2 1/2 miles were fabulous.  And my viaduct photo.  Hah!  Take that, Bridges on the Tyne (and other rivers) website.  It CAN be photographed.  Even in summer.  So there!  Bridge and railway nerds will want to know that this is the Plessey Railway Viaduct.  I guess that very few of you will have walked underneath it but I can recommend it - and there is a bus stop near the start of the path so you won't have to walk for an hour by those busy roads.

14th July

Grateful for another walk.

A little over 7 miles. But all of these pictures were taken in the same 50 metre stretch. Part of the 2 1/2 mile section during which I didn't see a single person.

The fallen tree in the third picture was my seat for eating lunch. On the other side of the river is a little waterfall. Very pleasant.

Also, I am boastful because I think my bridge picture is much nicer than the ones on a useful website about river bridges in the area.

15th July

Grateful that on Monday I returned to meditation after a too long break. Grateful that at the end of the week (and this morning) I can say I have kept it up.

Grateful for this book. For now it is being a useful place to practice in. Grateful for the decent meditation timer on my phone.

Grateful to have half made the placard the book is sitting on.

Half ready for the Pride parade and maybe the Alt Pride picnic afterwards.

I'm not quite sure why this picture was posted on the 15th.  It was taken on the 14th.  But hey, Blob looks very happy to by lying in the clover even though he didn't manage to find any with four leaves.  I have never found a four leaf clover.  Ever.  I don't think that explains anything about my life though.

16th July

Grateful for the Northern Pride parade.

For the picnic.

And for an unexpected meeting.

Well, this is my gratitude diary from the Sunday Assembly Newcastle group.  Glad that a few from the SA were able to to carry the banner at Pride.

SA is a "radically inclusive" movement.

17th July

Grateful to return to the Quakers and to join them for lunch.

Grateful for flowers on the way to a Pride vigil service that I then couldn't attend.

18th July

Grateful for a very quiet day and time to recover physically and mentally.

Grateful that there are many things which are not forever.

Thursday, 28 July 2016

Days of Gratitude - Kittens, Contentment Cleared of Crud, And A Cafe for Writers

It's time to start catching up with these posts.  I haven't blogged them in eighteen days.  Never mind.  That's because I've been busy on many days, struggling on some.  And I've been writing - even if most of that writing is blog posts for Blob Thing it's still writing.  The writing feels good.  I want more.  More.  MORE!

It should be obvious by the end of this post.  Normally I'd include five days of gratitude but here there are only three because I got quite carried away with enthusiastic words after going to that cafe mentioned in the title.  I think allowing myself to indulge in it will be very good for me indeed.

But to begin.  This is the internet so I feel I should begin where the internet usually dwells.  Here's a picture of a couple of adorable kittens.

11th July

Grateful to have visited Westgate Ark and to have spent a couple of hours stroking kittens.

This may or may not become a semi-regular thing.

12th July

Grateful to have dragged myself out for another walk. This time it was one I could enjoy for the sake of the walk in contrast to Sunday when I was walking out some of the crud in my head.

So this time there were many photos, adventures for Blob, and time to appreciate things.

Between Sunderland and Fatfield there is much to enjoy.

I also diverted from the river up to Penshaw Monument and for a while was alone there.


13th July

Grateful for having the spoons to try new things this week. After kitten cuddling on Monday and going to new places yesterday, this morning I took the plunge and went along to The Writers' Cafe at Settle Down.

I've known about such things for quite a while. But hey, that's where writers go. Proper people who write things. Proper writers who know how to use words. And I'm not a writer.

Except I am.

I am a writer because I want to write. I am a writer because this year have been taking steps and time to write - even if much of it is devoted to a small pink blob! I am a writer because the urge is there inside and maybe this time it won't be stopped by self doubt, self loathing, or any of the excuses I've invented over the years. Honestly, I am a writer because I am writing. It's obvious but it was obscured in the haziness of doubt and a history of unwillingness to ascribe positives to myself.

I have small beginnings. Of course. But they are beginnings. And I am truly grateful for them. What existed only as a desire that I never believed would be conceived into being, let alone born as a helpless infant, now exists in both childlike and childish reality

They say rightly that from small seeds grow great trees. My tree may never be as mighty as a giant redwood. But if my tree grows to have anything like the ecstatically interesting shapes of those I saw yesterday I will be far more than satisfied.

If my branches can be unpredictable. If they form shapes not seen in a child's picture book that shows only the acceptable, idealised form of the tree.

If my wounds, like the splits and scars on the trees, are allowed to proudly add to the story rather than being deemed shameful.

And if my tree can provide refuge for another being, if it can give life, then I will be rewarded by that privilege.

I enjoyed the group. I have another little writing project to try to find the energy and make the time for. I met good people. I met again a member of this Sunday Assembly group. And I'll go back and experience it again.

I could wish that I had managed to go along sooner. I could wish that I had been brave enough to walk into that place and be a part of something unknown. I could wish that I had not spent so many years holding myself back from living in abundance.

I could wish the same about so many aspects of my life that have been finding their place and their freedom over the last few years. But everything must happen in its own time and in our own state of readiness for them.

Maybe, as a writer, writing foremost for my own sensual joy of the words, of the thoughts, of the images, and of the story, it is my time of readiness to become what I often dreamed but could never dare.

This photo was taken in the middle of September when I was wandering around Broadacre House after a mindfulness group.

A haiku on a window.

It just happens to be by Marie, who leads the Writers' Cafe group.

Oops. The above is over 500 words. Whatever happened to being brief?! This is enough for another instant, accidentally free written on Facebook blog post. Yay! It may be obvious that I'm a little enthusiastic tonight. That is probably a very good thing.

Monday, 18 July 2016

Why A Queer Pride Parade Is Not The Place to Keep Jeremy Corbyn

The Pride parade in Newcastle on Saturday was great.  It really was.  Northern Pride Events Ltd. do a fine job organising everything each year with the police and local authority so that the parade can happen.  I may have a few issues with other aspects of the event across the weekend but, for me at least, joining the parade is one of the great pleasures of the year.

It is perhaps the moment in which the most people gather together in Newcastle and all have smiles on their faces.  And it's pretty glorious.

This year the parade was also pretty political with various political groups being represented among those who walked.  I've been reflecting about something in particular regarding the manners in which political groups parade for Pride:

The manner in which their walking is acceptable and adds to the visible display that demonstrates the reason why we parade.

And the manner in which their walking can be unacceptable, diminishing the visible display and supplants the reason for the day with other reasons that steal from the festival and from the people the festival represents.

So, a few thoughts:

A: I personally want Jeremy Corbyn to remain leader of the Labour party.  That's just my view.  Others disagree.  And that's fine.  At Pride that's not important at all.  Not.  At.  All.

B: I know some of the people actively campaigning for this to happen. And they're all nice.  I really like the people I know.  I'd happily stand by them in much of their campaigning if I had the energy to do it.

I was talking and walking with one of the prominent local campaigners later in the day.  I really like him a lot and am really grateful to know him.  He does a whole load of good in Newcastle and beyond and to be honest I look upon him with some admiration and am glad every time he encourages me that I might be able, health permitting, to do much good too.  Among the active campaigners there are many people like him.

C. And here is my grumbling point:

I honestly don't think that "Keep Corbyn" placards are appropriate at a Pride parade.  I think they are great, in their place.  But that place is most definitely not a Pride parade.

The Pride parade is about LGBTQIA+ people.

It's about inclusiveness and the celebration of all people regardless of sexuality and gender.

It's political and should be a call for social justice, the rights and freedoms and acceptance of all people, here and worldwide.

It's a remembrance of everyone who has fought to get us where we are.

It's a shout out for those people who suffer today because of their sexuality or gender.

It's a shout out for those people who through persecution or fear of rejection or any other reason cannot stand openly and say "I am gay" or "I am trans" or "I am a polyamorous trans bisexual" or whatever else they may desperately want to be able to say.

And for other people who may not even think about any of those things it's a chance to be fabulously themselves and enjoy a party atmosphere before partying on for the rest of the day and night.

The Queer Pride parade is many things.  They all concern us.  They don't concern Jeremy Corbyn,

What it is not is an excuse for a campaign to keep a single person as head of a single political party.  I say that as someone who happens to agree fully with the aims of that particular campaign.

The parade is about LGBTQIA+ people.  Not about a political personality.  We may love that personality.  We may loathe them.  But unless they've just been putting through anti-queer legislation that we want to campaign against, then Pride is not and will never be about them.

I would also think it completely inappropriate to display placards for any other leader, or calling to support any other party, or even those awful Nando's flags from last year.  I'm only grumbling about Jeremy Corbyn supporters because they were the ones I saw with the most placards that had party political campaign slogans on display.

I am very happy that members of the local Labour party parade. I am happy that members of the Green party parade, that a church parades, and people from Trades Unions and all kinds of other groups.  Hey, I'm far from being a Conservative but if the good people from LGBTory showed up then I would be very happy to see them.

Some parading from those groups are queer, others are allies. It's all good. I am glad that the organisations that parade are either inclusive already in their policies and practicalities or their members campaign for full inclusiveness.

But I only remain happy as long as they parade as part of their ongoing efforts for equality and freedom rather than as an attempt at converting anyone to their own group.

And that doesn't matter what group. Labour, Green, Conservative, those Socialist Worker people with their SWP placards, religious groups, Unions, workers from Asda or Sainsburys. Any group.

March with us, stand with queer people of all the different varieties we exist in.

But don't use our day, our one day of the year of publicly celebrating ourselves, for your own cause.

Because then you're not being an ally. You're being an idiot. You're distracting from the day. Diluting Queer Pride.

It's an issue if someone simultaneously claims to be our allies and then hijacks our parade for their own purposes.  I for one do not want allies like these.

If you plan to promote your cause on our day then I for one would prefer you to naff off and not walk with us.

I was at a rally for refugees recently. Some people brought placards about the EU - it was just before the referendum. They were told in no uncertain terms not to display those placards. It was a refugee rally NOT about the EU and whether anyone thought we should remain in it or leave.
So why the hell do people think it's appropriate to display their "Keep Corbyn" placards at a Pride parade?
I happen to agree with the sentiment and the call to keep Jeremy Corbyn - assuming the members of the Labour party (I am not one of them) vote to keep him.  And assuming they are allowed to vote for him, which is another matter for campaigning.  Yes, I agree.  And I agree that campaigning for this political cause is a valid course of action.
But that's not the point is it?

This is our parade.  This is our cause.

For one day, for one moment, if you want to promote some other cause, just butt out.
If you want to promote some other cause, then do so.  But do it somewhere else.

For just that one moment raise all queer people up.

For just that one moment forget about your own agendas.  Leave them behind.

Please, if you brought your own agenda this year then leave it behind next year.

Please, next year stand solely for us, not for yourselves.

And if you can't do that, then don't parade at all.

I don't want you claiming to be our ally if you hijack our parade.

If you want to hijack it for your politics then, and I'll put this in undiplomatic words, just fuck off for the day.

If you want to hijack it for your politics then I don't want you there.  Stay away.  Please.

We can meet for a drink later.  We can walk together with your placards on another day.

But on our day march for us and us alone or fuck off!

[1293 words]

Friday, 15 July 2016

Remembering The Time When Gerald Ate The Washing

I am amazed to find that it was five months ago when Gerald ate the washing.  Meeting Gerald was a joy for me.

Gerald was the outcome of a writing prompt Amanda gave me, one of three she provided that day, each of them half a sentence.  I posted the results as a blog post then.  I had been having a bad time when I wrote them and I found that the act of writing was an act of liberation.  Reading about Gerald again today I am still pretty satisfied with him, apart from a question mark being omitted.  I honestly think it's a decent piece of writing.  It's also a very silly piece of writing.

Go on, indulge yourself.  You know you want to read about Gerald.  As I type that sentence I am wondering whether I will ever learn more about him or have the experience of seeing him act in some other outlandish fashion.
If you're in a creative mood, or if you're not, then you could write something from the three prompts.  They are in that post as well as what happened when I typed them and carried on typing. They're not strictly speaking the product of free writing - but nearly.  I find that none of them are terrible.  That pleases me.

I haven't posted the results of the first prompts Amanda gave me - one isn't bad and I might return to it one day.  There is a story waiting to be written and sometimes in my dreams and thoughts it calls out to me.  I don't even know who Johanna is, how she was lost or whether the one who loves her would ever find her again.  I'd dearly like to find out.  The one who loves her would like to know too.  Leaving him in that situation is an act of cruelty on my part.
The other is a poem that in places is reminiscent of the writing of Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings.  If people request these pieces of writing I will post them here.  And then I will hide myself away in embarrassment!  For at least a few hours.  My attempt at a poem really is very bad indeed!  I am choosing to laugh about the awfulness of the free verse rather than to get disheartened in any way.

Another of the prompts from Amanda led to a 9500 word story I wrote for her birthday. It's the longest thing I have ever written.  On that occasion I asked her for a list of twenty words and said I would incorporate them all into a story.  I had expected that the story would be under 1000 words, another of the little pieces of fun tossed out to the screen in minutes.  But an idea formed and then the details formed themselves as I wrote.  I knew the story would end happily but as I typed I didn't have a clue how it would get there and some of the plot surprised me.

That could also be returned to.  Amanda said that I should do it and she encouraged me to jump back into the story when I feel it's the right time. Partly I need to change a few things. They need changing. Minor details that mean the story makes less sense. Gender words to adjust. And, horrifically, a misplaced apostrophe that Amanda joyfully announced to me! But I also could happily extend the story and the descriptions of the ways imprisonment happens and the ways in which we discover and achieve freedom.
It's not high literature.  It's not even low literature.  But I enjoyed the writing and Amanda enjoyed the reading.  That's what matters to me.  What also matters is that it might not have been the best writing in the world but it was writing.  My writing.  Part of my seeking to unlock whatever creativity lies within me.  Dormant.  Neglected.  Brutally wounded and crushed.  Part of my desire to set it free, breathe on it and allow the deep Spirit to breathe on it.  To let it grow so that the unspoken creative DNA within the seeds can become the spoken Word, abundant life out of the tomb of denial.

My playing with another prompt has so far reached 3500 words. I'm quite enthusiastic about that one! It's going to take some work and in places some actual research and planning rather than just free writing everything without any plan and seeing where it goes.
For anyone interested - and you might want to write something from it too, here's that prompt:
She had never wanted that shopping trolley, and now she was stuck with it.

It sat in my head for a while.  An image formed.  It sat there a while longer.  A fragmentary plot formed itself that if I'd written it down would have read like a bad two sentence synopsis of a novel, something that misses out all the details and feels like it was written by someone who hadn't even bothered to read the book.  That sat there for a while.  And then I finally began to write.

As I wrote those first paragraphs the plot extended and my head has been playing with it so much that this morning I had to write down a few bullet point ideas for how on earth the story could get from point A to point B.  Getting from B to C feels possible.  Which is good because point C is the first thing I wrote and it belongs at the beginning.  My head has inklings of points D and E too but unless it tells me more about them they can wait.  A to B to C is more than enough to be playing with for the present.

After the shopping trolley I have four more prompts from Amanda that I haven't touched yet.  One of them was given on the day I wrote that terrible, terrible poem.  The other three were given on a day on which I was struggling just to get through the day.  I asked for three more prompts but was then unable to bring myself to write.

And then there are the books.  I have books filled with writing exercises.  I have books about writing.  I have a book which is a creative writing course and it looks fantastic.  It's fair to say that I have enough source material on hand to play with.

And then, to the joy of some, the dismay of others and the total confusion of still others, there is Blob Thing.  A (so far) daily blog post based on his adventures.  Over the past six weeks that's become something very different to what I had envisaged or intended it to be.  It may be crazy writing.  But it is writing.  They say that a writer should try to write at least something every day.  I have been writing the Blob posts.  I notice that it's been good for me in terms of being able to freely write but also in terms of my own moods.  Blob's blob lifts me up inside.

On top of that, this week I went along to The Writers' Cafe for the first time - a regular event here in Newcastle.  I've known about it for quite a while but would never attend.  I wrote about that on the day I attended, as my gratitude post for that day.  I thought it was wonderful.  But it's given me yet another thing I can play with.

That's what writing is for me at this time.  It's play.  It's fun and I am doing it primarily for myself - as any writer should if they want to be truly happy or content about the act of writing.

Yes, as of this moment I am prepared to call myself a writer.

It doesn't particularly matter what I'm writing.  It doesn't matter if it isn't yet full formed.  It's doesn't matter if it's never widely read and if my name is never known.

What matters is that I follow the call that is within me.

What matters is that I give myself time, allow myself to be free.

What matters is that I write.

Amanda said this morning that it is my vocation.  I like that.

I am a writer.

[1400 words]

Days of Gratitude - A Pile Of Rubbish And A Whole Load Of Smush

Yes, another five days from the positives I've found for the Sunday Assembly Gratitude Group.  These were among the hardest days I've had in quite a while in terms of mental health.  For three days of the five I was basically not able to go out.  Days of struggling.  Days of trying not to get too disheartened in the period before it began to feel better again.

On some days it's hard to find positives.  On some days it's even harder to intentionally do positive things.  And yet, there were positives.  And even on those staying at home with my head simultaneously exploding and imploding and the rising up of panic and my senses playing havoc, even on those days I was able to do some positive things.  Some new things.  Some things that are preparing for parts of the future I would like to have.  That future is not mapped out much but I know that I keep taking steps towards achieving it.  Even on the days that I could easily write off as rubbish ones.  This may not be the day the Lord has made.   But in some way each day is the day I have made.  And I choose, as much as I can, to rejoice and be glad in it.  Or at least to see some good in it.

6th July

Grateful to have begun my quest to create a totally cosy art lounge. It's been a room full of junk and washing hangers that just happened to have a sofa bed.

Much work needed and much art to learn to do and play with so I can fill walls with it.

I have been writing more this year than in any year previously.  Since in previous years I wrote hardly anything that is not a great claim to fame.

But a story won't get these walls filled!

7th July

Grateful to have got through electrolysis.

 Grateful for the vacuum bags currently in Poundland.

 And grateful for a surprise dinner out with a friend.

8th July

Grateful to have got the art lounge at least to a state in which I can sit there for a while. Grateful to have finished reading a book there. The first completed book in quite a while.

Grateful for the absolutely amazing and surprising shapes made by the smoke from an incense stick. Glorious.

And grateful that all the stuff sorted for charity has finally gone to charity shops. All this stuff.

Ooh. Grateful for my hairbrush so I don't have to look like this all day.

9th July

Surprising myself by managing to complete both of the extra hard Numberlink puzzles they put up on Nikoli. There was a time I wouldn't even attempt the hard ones because I didn't stand a chance of doing them. And I completed these.

Also grateful to have made smushes (pronounced smwshes because of Manchester accent) for the first time. I don't think the blender we have can juice as smoothly as the juicers on the market. But it is what we have and it tasted okay.

10th July

Grateful to have managed to get out for the first time in three days.

Even if I went the wrong way three times and only completed half the planned walk.

A tree, a path and a river were good to see.

And grateful to have walked out some of the dren from my head.

This really was a walk for walking out my head.  The previous evening I had fallen very, very low in terms of my mental health.  It was actually a little scary.

Being able to get out and walk helped me a lot.  It wasn't though a walk for taking lots of pictures or for Blob to enjoy adventures.  This was me, regaining some sanity on a Sunday.