I have run away. Only for a few days, but I have. Right now, I’m in a hotel room and I have been in no one’s company but my own for a day or two. I have slept. I have wandered and walked. Yesterday I swam for the first time in, I think, ten years. And I have written too.
And I’m feeling better. It’s been so good to have a bit of space. There’s been so much to think of and to worry about over these past few months I was in danger of it swallowing me. And that’s not a great place to be. I’ll not bore you with the personal stuff (I’m fine) but, work-wise I think this is the busiest I’ve been in ten years, and that’s including having four books out since then. Since November I’ve been running a project that I think is the best thing I’ve ever done (more on that soon). I’ve taught and met so many amazing people as well – adults and children – and I’ve gone to some inspiring places but now, just for a few days, I don’t have to think about anything other than me. And my words.
So here’s to having a break from stuff every once in a while (or, in my case, every decade). Here’s to not letting life swallow us in a bad way. Here’s to happiness and sleep and making things up and spending time on yourself and with yourself. Here’s to saying No every so often. Here’s to you.
Oh, and here’ s a picture of me looking slightly dishevelled and beardy while being spied on by a spaceman after battling Storm Doris and train disruptions.
And here’s a piano I played; somehow people thought I could.
This is what it looked like right after I’d finished a draft earlier.
Here’s me by a strange, emerald light.
And here are my inky fingers.