Apologies for the light blogging recently – the sad truth is I just haven’t had much to blog about. I’ve taken advantage of my enforced near house arrest to get on with beating my latest novel into something vaguely readable, and while I do pride myself on being able to spin something blogworthy out of the least promising material having managed to churn out a daily blog post about my commute back in another lifetime, even I can’t pretend there’s anything more to say about walking down to the village and back followed by half an hour spent staring at a screen, adding in a nicely placed comma and then – after another hour’s reflection – taking it out again. On the plus side, not going anywhere is doing wonders for our bank balance – I’ve been carrying around the same £10 note for almost two weeks now.
But yesterday I had a meeting in town (and by ‘meeting’ of course I mean lunch, gossip, cake, coffee and a little bit of popup bookshop planning) followed by writers group in the evening when we were made to act out dialogue (and I discovered that – two years of aggressive non-aggression on twitter notwithstanding – I really love a good barney as long as it’s just pretend) and I was as giddy as a schoolgirl. Domestication has its virtues, but I long to be able to be independently mobile again (and yes, Mum, I could drive myself. But I am trying to cut down on unnecessary car journeys, and besides the other half has hidden the car keys*). A good 90% of everyone I speak to agrees that it would be daft to start cycling too soon and undo the NHS’s good work and I agree, I really do. But I dreamt last night I got back on the bike again.
And it was wonderful.
* not really. Well, probably not really, although I haven’t actually looked. He did look a bit panicked when I suggested driving somewhere the other day.