‘If you want to make God laugh, plan for the future.’ Woody Allen said something like that.
Frustrated, annoyed, miserable, grumpy. It’s a job I hate. I’m just finishing reading the proofs of my 22nd book, Hungry Heart Roaming: An Odyssey of Sorts. I’m at the stage when I am deeply dissatisfied with what I’ve written, but it can’t now be changed. Even looking out of the study window at the garden I’ve made over the years doesn’t improve my mood.
2020: this spring will always be remembered as the Coronavirus Spring, and as I write this the outcome is wholly unknown and beyond guessing, whatever temporarily powerful politicians say. But what is certain, and obvious, is that like all things it will come to an end.
We are so lucky here: we have a garden, and an empty countryside, and can get exercise and light and air when eyes get tired of reading. And a book to write (of which more in another blog).
We have just got back from Iona … a wonderful, profound trip.