I’m irritating myself. (I’m probably irritating a few other
people, too, one way or another.)
The fact is, I’m tired of being strangled to a state of
semi-consciousness when it comes to making blog posts. It isn’t like me to have
it go on this long, and I don’t like it. It all stems from an e-mail I wrote to
somebody last Sunday. Since then my spirits have been low and I can’t seem to
raise them, even though I’ve had a couple of small pieces of financial good
fortune in the interim. I really had forgotten what it’s like to miss somebody
this badly.
But what do I persuade myself to talk about? It concerns me
that I’ve made no mention of dear Sarah for some time, but what is there to say
except that I continue to go out daily in an attempt to bump into her, so far
without success. It pains me that she continues to look for bed time
entertainment every night and I’m unable to provide any. Sorry, Sal, better
days ahead I hope.
I did talk to a woman on a horse today, who turned out to be
another tenant of the Norbury Estate. It seems she shares my opinion of the new
agent and is equally anxious about the security of estate tenancies these days.
I wasn’t sure whether to be encouraged by that or not. On the one hand there’s strength
in numbers, on the other it appeared to vindicate my concerns.
And we’re forecast to have the coldest night of the winter
so far, possibly into the minus double figures. Will I still go for my
nocturnal ramble? I expect so, if for no other reason than I so look forward to
the mug of hot chocolate when I get back. We sure know how to live, we
Beazleys.
OK, time to start dinner. Soya mince chilli with pitta
breads tonight.
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