A Day in the Life.

The bats have gone, the birds are back, more autumn clearance work has been done in the garden but so much still remains. One problem with clearing the old growth is that I find myself constantly rescuing ladybirds whose hibernation I’ve disturbed.

The first half ton of coal has been delivered for the winter fire. The chimney was swept yesterday, so all is ready for the cold time.

My old knee injury (worn out through overwork) continues to be troublesome, so I’ve curtailed my rambles in the hope that it might settle down again. I haven’t been to the far end of Mill Lane for some time, and I wonder whether my little friend who liked to play scritch-scratch misses me. I wonder whether she’s still in her pen, or whether she’s now contributing to the sludge at the bottom of a sewage farm.

Sarah remains conspicuous by her absence. Maybe I’m not meant to tell her why I’m a fraud; maybe it doesn’t matter; maybe she wouldn’t want to know; maybe she doesn’t care; maybe she has ‘bigger fish to fry than you, young Brendan Bradshaw.’ Brendan Bradshaw isn’t so young any more. If he were, he might be facing a problem he’s never had to deal with. Excuse my crypticness; I’m thinking aloud. Word says ‘crypticness’ isn’t a word. It is now.

Life continues to shine and seduce. Do I really have an option but to follow her, despite the occasional razor blade she lays down for me to tread on?

I’m confused about so many things. I’ve just had a phone call from Helen while typing this, and Helen is also hopelessly confused. There appears to be an epidemic of hopeless confusion doing the rounds.

So, this journal entry is being cut short. Dinner beckons. Later I have to engage with life, and I don’t know how to approach her yet. Life is such a powerful entity, isn’t she? Equally capable of sitting you on a cloud or strangling you in the gutter.