Mantra

It would seem to stupid to stay in bed and pull the covers over my head. After all, it's a contender, in my book, for the most beautiful place in the world. If thinking is bad, then walking is good. Early up the hairpin bends until I am nothing except aching legs, panting lungs and pounding heart. And in case I am at risk of becoming too contemplative on the downward stretches, not to say maudlin, I have with me a small daughter who has promised to sing me (1) all the songs from Hairspray, (2) all the songs from Taylor Lautner’s album and (3) if it’s a long walk, all the songs from High School Musical I, II and III. In the circumstances, I think we had better go for a medium-length walk.

Indefatigable in her jibber-jabber, this little lark is one half of what I get up for every morning: even the mornings there is nothing to get up for. Looking just like me but skinny as a rake and with ribs protruding both front and back, she starts her day (usually around 5am) with an account of her dreams and her first bowl of Weetabix. Inside her head at night, it’s as busy and bizarre and colourful as an LSD trip. What a mysterious little thing. Three bowls of cereal, couple of pieces of fruit and we’re on our way.

At least half of her conversations revolve around mermaids - I’m something of an expert now. We didn’t spot any on this morning’s walk, however we think we saw the swish of a tail when we were on the boat this afternoon. I thought salty swims and the breeze blowing in my face would prove to me beyond doubt that I am not in fact made of cobwebs, nor of dust. They would be gone and I am still here: substantially, literally, virtually and indeed metaphorically.

Only a few days left to reconcile myself to the autumn, whatever it will hold. I will come back cool, calm and collected. I will be fitter, browner, thinner. I am on the way with my novel, I have a piece in a publication. Everything will be ok. Everything will be ok. Everything will be ok.