Unexpectedly Happy Days

I had the most amazing week – Regent Cottage is lovely with a wonderful secret garden, and going somewhere on our own (me and molls) with no former associations was just what I needed. I felt happy and secure there and fine on my own – in fact relished the time I had to myself.

I missed Pip, of course: we had been to Penzance on many occasions, but it felt fine to be there without him. Partly what made the week so good, I realised, was that I wasn't constantly worrying about him. Whether his cough was bad, was he OK on his own, should I hurry back to be with him. Did he want to go for a drink, had he got a video to watch, enough to read etc. Was he feeling down, was he too tired? What did I need to do? Going away made me realise how much of a strain the whole of the last year was - not just the last few months.

For once all I had to do was look after myself and that made life so much easier. Freer. I bumped into all sorts of people I knew – all to do with writing – including Peter, who's organising the Penzance Literary Festival which he's asked me to take part in again. I met another journalist who belongs to the same journo forum as me. I visited the wonderful Book Cafe in St Just and got talking to more writerly, book loving types who were fascinated to hear that I write walks.

Viv and Titch came and we did three wonderful and very long walks, getting lost along the way. At one point we met this red haired sprightly fellow who was also pounding the coastal footpath – we'd bumped into him the previous day but he seemed to have shed his girlfriend and gained two walking sticks.

“How come he's so sprightly?” said Viv as he whizzed up and down the granite strewn path.

“He doesn't have two dogs, three guide books, a map, a tape recorder and a camera,” I muttered. As Viv has just had a Significant Birthday, I didn't add that he was also 30 years younger.....

So the week was productive, exhausting and fun. Coming home was tricky, suddenly hit by an avalanche of emotions that crashed over me like the waves at Land's End. And since then I am beset by sudden plunges of grief that hurtle me down like a tombstoner. But that's bound to happen. I take a deep breath and swim underwater. Go with it, don't fight it. It passes and I reach dry land again.

When I went to pick up Bussie from the vets they said, “You can't have him back! We love him!”

Needless to say, His Lordship has been horribly spoilt but has become very affectionate and has taken to sleeping on the bed as well as Mollie. So there I am squashed somewhere in the middle: a Flowerpot Sandwich. I was wondering about getting a smaller bed now, but have decided it's just as well we have a King Size bed......