Babygirl

I thought it was a bank holiday today. I can’t think why I thought that. Perhaps I’d seen it in my diary (I believe, or so one of the women in Tesco’s said, that it is one in Scotland), or perhaps I was confusing it with May where there are two, one each end of the month. He is taking the piss unremittingly. And why not? It is his way. I must bear it, nobly. Fair game, eh?

I asked her if the tattoo on her inner, lower arm was a quote. No, she said, showing it to me, I got it done when we got married. They are separating now. I’m going to cover it with an image of feather, she said. I’ve already booked it in for November. Did your partner have one done too? I asked. Yes, she said, she did, exactly the same.

A girl walking towards me in the semi-light. Her t-shirt reads ‘Babygirl’. He calls me that sometimes.

I catch the tale end of a play about a home care-worker called ‘Flying visits’. She attends a council meeting to complain about the impossibility of managing each visit within the allotted 15 minutes time-frame. She gives a moving speech, describing how her clients ‘can’t be rushed’ and the time it takes to prepare them for a shower and what a ‘privilege’ it is to bathe someone. Beautiful. It stood me still.

And it is the end of Academy Street on the radio. I shall miss it. I shall miss Tess. So much so that I have got the book from the library. I think I have read it before. It is so familiar. A part of me already. ‘I shall never lie with a man again, Tess, now in her fifties says to herself. But she relishes all the books she has yet to read. Amen to that.

Then there is a clip of Stephen Fry’s upcoming programme of Fry’s English Delights with his guest David Sedaris, with Sedaris admitting that if he doesn’t do his ‘laundry’ at 7.00 am on a Sunday morning he is utterly thrown. I know this all too well, and it sometimes hurts. He tries to soften my self-criticism. You just like order, he says. And I do. It calms me. There is so much chaos.

Those poor people in the US. So much needless killing and pain. How can you protect yourself against that?

Sometimes, says Brian Aldridge in The Archers to Ed Grundy, all you can do is endure it.  

A trivial thing, and I know it, but I long for a cup of coffee. And maybe, just maybe, she will tell me tomorrow that it is a no go, for ever. And even, grapefruit, possibly. Do I want to know this?

Rest in peace all of you. I am so sorry. And then there was the ‘seed saviour’ on the Food Programme with the glorious Dan Saladino. What a warm glow that programme gives me. Sunday’s are a roller-coaster of listening. And DID with Sir Tim Waterstone – not sure what to make of him. I was wobbled a little. I look for a gem of something. And it wasn’t there. It wasn’t there.

My belief deepens while my certainty lessens. It feels like I’m standing on ground that is being rocked by an earthquake, splitting and I have a leg either side. Acceptance. That is it. That is all I, we can do. Not in a passive way but an open energetic way. They cancelled one then all of them. I have to let it be and hope that abundance will come from elsewhere. That is all. That is all.