Wuss

I wrote this post in my notebook, at Monsal Head, in the same place where Sol and Frances sat on page 296 of BUT I TOLD YOU LAST YEAR THAT I LOVED YOU.

"They got mugs of coffee from the café, and walked away from the ice cream van and the benches full of tourists with their glasses of beer and their cameras, along the path below the car park between the waving grasses and delicate blue cranesbill and the tall creamy chervil. They sat on the wooden bench at the end, in amongst the nettles, under a rowan tree. They sat quietly and looked at the view. The river in the valley below was dark, but its surface glittered in the sunlight."

But the sun wasn't shining, the meadow cranesbill was long dead, and it was cold and damp. It suited my mood.

What do you do if you've had six months of a pandemic with its restrictions and losses, but you've not had a loved one die, or your wedding cancelled, or your job or house taken away, nor are you in imminent danger of either/both - basically, you're one of the lucky ones - and yet you're so fed up that when someone asks you why, you say 'I can give you twenty reasons, straight up, without even stopping to think'?

Do you write your blog? Or do you think it more seemly to shut up until you can write a more cheerful post?

Today a friend who had printed a piece of art for me called to deliver it, and we stood in the hall wearing masks for five minutes while I paid him and thanked him and he gave me some much needed advice on how to proceed with the art in question. Then after Dave and I had admired his new bike rack, he left.

In normal circumstances I would have invited him into the kitchen for a coffee and a piece of cake and a half hour chat about this and that.

Because of 'staying safe' I didn't, and after he'd gone I felt desperate. It is so unnatural not to be hospitable, not to invite people into your home. I hate this half-life, stripped of hugs and easy camaraderie, of variety, and trips, touching without thinking and events to look forward to.

There. I said it. And there was I, thinking that reading a memoir of the Blitz would toughen me up.

What is worse? Having to make do with one ounce of cheese a week, and being under constant air raids and the risk of losing your house and everything in it, which includes you and your family?

Or doing without easy socialising, physical closeness and hugs?

It's so obvious, isn't it?

Sue Hepworth > niminy piminy whinging wuss.

This video about Covid, however, always cheers me up

Cece made it all on her own with no advice or assistance or previous discussion.

When I texted her and told her I loved it and could we Facetime? She texted back 'Let's do Google meet. I will email you a link.' She is 8.