Aine's Message.

I decided to have a session on Blogger tonight, but the computer was in one of its silly ass moods – not exactly dysfunctional, but irritatingly crotchety – so I thought I’d go and watch a film instead. Well, the sludgy sound and the mumbled American accents meant that I caught about one word in twenty, so that got turned off as well. OK, time to go and sit in the garden in the cool of the evening and watch the adult birdies feeding the baby birdies. I always enjoy that at this time of year. (Did I say ‘cool of the evening?’ Ha! At the moment it’s four-layer weather during the cool of the day, and an added winter coat once the sun goes down. We’re having a cold June so far.)

So anyway, I went and sat in the garden. That was the point at which the showers that have been threatening all day decided they couldn’t wait any longer. Deluge. I went and stood in the greenhouse instead and watched the rain sweeping across the valley from behind the nearly-protective glass. I say ‘nearly’ because the greenhouse roof is none too secure and I was getting dripped on.

And then I realised that this situation was almost identical to the start of chapter two of my novel. And when I wandered off to the bottom of the garden just as it was getting dark, the low light, the stillness and the dripping foliage was an absolute re-run of the start of another chapter.

So then I wondered: was this dearest Aine telling me she’s still around, and that there really was a point to writing that story? Or was it just an example of a phrase that popped into my head this morning:

Desperation is the mother of delusion.

I’m sticking with Aine.