Bryan Ferry’s voice is singing in my head. A soft chocolatey voice. Do do that voodoo you do so well, he is singing, over and over again. You do something to me. That’s the title. He sings to me as I walk. Voices in my head. Voices of actors – Ciaran Hinds, Anton Lesser, Miriam Margolyes. Lovely rich voices that fill my waking day courtesy of the radio. Stories, telling me their stories. And words, and sentences peppering my consciousness. ‘She sat in that great house. That’s what killed her – cancer of the soul’. Thoughts, ideas, peppering, filling, emptying, making me whole. Too agitated yesterday, a raging fearfulness, it still dogs me today. A text in the night, should I wake and attend to it, no, it will unsettle me and won’t sleep afterwards. No, leave it. Then this morning it is too late. It wasn’t for me then. Can I let it go?
One of the rough sleepers is back in the Prom shelter. It is less cold. Where do they go when it is freezing?
I shall leave them shortbread when I make it at the weekend.
Work now.
I sent her some healing. Poor love, I hope she isn’t scared. x
