The Boy Likes Gin

During a last-minute dash back to England to be with Dad as he went into hospital, I realised that nothing changes and everything changes.   

I gently walked away from a lovely, beautiful stranger who was seemingly head-over-his-big-heels for me. Instinct told me that I needed more. Instinct also whispered to me that it would have been unkind to him - and to me - if I were to stay.  

A letter to my younger self. An update about how life is getting on. I think everything is marvellous. There is peace in our time. 

Life is just a wonderful wander from phase to phase. I have a feeling that this marvellous phase might be coming to its natural end. But I have no idea where the next phase will be, and that's just wonderful! 

I am not sure if getting older makes rejection easier, or if rejection makes rejection easier. But either way, it is getting easier. The wobble is reducing. Nothing can topple me.  

An old lady I barely knew has died, and I feel so very sad. She was so entirely lovely to me. I must be entirely lovely to others. We're all hidden figures until someone says 'hello'.

New year resolutions. I have a few. And all were rather splendid, if not a touch daft. But I have a feeling that this is the year when it all the loveliness begins. I might be wrong. But I might be right, Darling!

I'm done with 'rational love', 'makes sense love', 'love for now love', 'I think it is love, love'. Nope. I want the 'blast into my world and shake the whole darn place to its foundations love'. I won't compromise. My friend has just found that love, so why can't I? I can. I hope.  If not, I choose 'a table for one' for the rest of my days, and that's fine, Darling! 

Father, where art thou? Not here. Never here. Nope. Thank goodness!

The unforgivable thrill maker.  Wow! But no. WOW. Still no. 

Don't invite me, I don't mind. I'm attending the best show in town. Mine, darling. 

Daily life is a magnificently daft adventure. Humdrum, it is not. 

Not the actual world - just my world. The world of one. I've done a marvellous job.

Life is never a walk in the park.

home, home, home, and then away, wonderfully away into the unknown. 

A resolution stumble.  But back walking, and talking, and resolving.  I think.

A letter to a wonderful friend. Because words (and pens) are all that I have to give. 

When you know you know, you might not know. But I know that I know that I know that I like him. I think. But I don't know if it's not a no.

Seeing Dad, wonderful Dad, in a different light, via bruised knees and egg sandwich imaginings.

This is what classical music does to me. Recorded, loaded and released within minutes of the conductor's baton tumbling to the ground, while the torment and joy is still coursing, uncontrolled, through every part of me. 

Fear can slow me, age can stall me, fashion faux pas can haunt me, but nothing will ever, ever mute me. Not again. Never again. 

Classical music is my religion, and my salvation. Camera-toting audience members (and bassoon players) are the devil's agents.  

Mum and Dad are getting old. I have become an adult. I am scared, and feeling terribly sad at the idea of them not being around. Even if I have a lifelong fear of grapes. Thanks Mum!  

Over styled and under experienced. But not even the Sahara Desert can beat this determined fool.

To him it was just a table to sit at. He had no idea the sacred ground he was treading on. He does now.