This is Rosemullion Head, taken last week in the glorious sunshine....
Last weekend Molls and I went up to Devon see one of my older brothers and my nieces, who are both at university and a joy to be with – intelligent, thoughtful and attractive young women. We don't often meet so it was wonderful to spend time with them and hear about their views on life, what they're doing and wearing. We placed bets on the National (no, won nothing) and went out to the pub for a meal.
Unfortunately I had several sudden and totally unexpected waves of missing Pip that knocked me off my feet. (At home it's more manageable somehow as I don't have to worry about other people.) A resurgence several hours later erupted like a volcano – just after we'd finished eating in the pub – and I shot off into the dusk with poor Molls for a howl and a Long Walk. (It's not always advisable to let family witness what you're really going through, particularly younger members.)
Next morning, I checked myself over gingerly. I was scarred and scraped, bruised and battered but alive. My sense of myself bubbled up to the surface and I smiled at the warm spring sunshine. Outside I could hear the tap tap of a woodpecker, the whinnying of a horse. A dog barking.
Around me life was going on as normal. My family were happily dozing in different rooms, Molls snoring on my bed. All was well. I had been gone for how long? Weeks or months – days or minutes – seconds or a lifetime? It didn't matter. I was back.
And that's enough of the difficult stuff. I have two bits of good news: the first is that, having got Pip's new camera out and practising with it (see above) I'm loving it and have booked myself on a photography course starting in a few weeks time.
The other thing is that, having had several disappointments on the work front this week, I have signed a publishing contract with Sigma Press for a walks book. I'm delighted to be working with them, and look forward to its publication next year.
