Posted by Tania Kindersley.
I really did have something interesting to write today. I was rehearsing it in the car on the way back from the horse. It may have been about the weather (you see the fascination); or it might have been about the nature of certainty. Can’t remember now. Brain says: I have done 1966 words and some notes and some killing of darlings and what more do you want? Blood?
Dog says: when will this bloody book be finished so we can get in some proper ball action?
Horse says: don’t really care, as long as you scratch me in that particular spot just behind my left ear. No, not there, there.
It kills me when she does this. It’s another of the absolutely tiny things of no importance which fills my heart with joy and delight and makes it bloom in my chest. She presents her face, and then angles it about, this way and that, until she gets my scratchy fingers in the exact right position, and then she sort of blisses out. And I feel that, by finding the sweetest of the sweet spots, I have achieved something of profound significance.
The sun shone so hard everyone in the village was talking about it, with the sort of awe and wonder that lost tribes must have felt when they first saw a motor car. I had an excellent conversation with the chemist, the newsagent and the postmistress. (I adore the postmistress, she is so clever and calm and funny.) I like doing errands in the village; it gives me a potent sense of belonging.
I managed to get all my jobs done and only had to ask someone what day of the week it was once. But I wish I could remember the interesting thing that I was going to tell you.
Some quick pictures for you:
Red the Mare, basking:
Is there to be a ball?
YES THERE IS:
Hill, with the trees in their spanking new green: