Freedom

Glass in throat has shattered, blocking up my sinuses and leaving me with a voice that sounds like Edith Piaf’s after a night on the tiles. I wish. Brain cells have taken fright at this intrusion and are skulking out of sight, not responding to drinks, food or Day Nurse. So if this makes absolutely no sense, blame it on the cough mixture.

Today I am trying to get back to normal, whatever that is, which involves trying to replace a couple that have dropped out of a feature I’ve written, and lining up several other couples for another one. As brain matter isn’t cooperating, I’m not at all sure what I will end up with. Probably cancer sufferers for the dog article and vice versa. Note to self. Don’t do any interviews today, probably not until next week.

But to other matters. For my birthday I received two wonderful helium balloons, one celebrating my huge age (the only thing about me that is huge, as Himself mutters) and the other one wishing me Happy Mother’s Day. I wasn’t quite sure whether this was because of Moll and Bussie or – or because there’s something I don’t know about. Or rather, someone. I don’t think I could have missed that kind of thing though.

Anyway, both balloons bobbed around our living room for a few days and as my mum arrived for Mother’s Day it seemed sensible to give the Mother’s Day one to her. The other one drifted in the breeze from the window but seemed to miss its pal, so last night we decided to set it free. We always do this with balloons.

We stood outside at around 6pm and launched our balloon into the grey sky. Our balloon sailed joyously out to sea, over the docks, round to the castle, up and up into the storm clouds building like cliffs, until it vanished from sight.

We wrote our phone number on it just in case anyone finds it. By now it should be over France, we think. It would be wonderful if someone actually rang to say where it was. I hope they let it go, though. It needs to be free.