OK, I am over my strop.
After my aggravation and outburst yesterday, I did a smidge of work and then bunked off with Dave down the Monsal Trail to Hassop Station Cafe, where we sat outside on the terrace and drank coffee and chatted in the warm sunshine. When I am 75 I shall walk down the Trail and have breakfast there. Then I’ll walk home and mess about. Then go down for lunch, walk home and mess about some more, and then cycle down for tea. Who needs to be a writer? Who needs to be a publisher?
An old friend came for the afternoon and we caught up on news of our respective families, and then at teatime I cycled up the Trail to my favourite thinking spot.
I climb over the fence and sit amongst the wild flowers and look at the view of wooded hills, limestone cliffs and the river below, and I listen to the silence. Then I feel whole.
A similar view from the Trail but not one with wild flowers…