Staying at Home 7th April 2020

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Every morning when I take Bella out for her morning walk the air smells cleaner, better by far and really fragrant - rather like working my way through a floral selection of gentle eau de colognes on a perfume counter in the South of France. 

As if I were to have opened Bonnard's window during an imaginary lockdown. 
I sometimes wonder why I write this blog - keep this diary - and why I make it available for anyone and everyone to see. I'm sure I'm not alone in the world of bloggers. Sometimes I can go for weeks - even months without actually getting round to saying what's on my mind or what I've been making. Being in lockdown is I think changing my relationship to my blog now. 

The one thing I pretty well always forget to do is check my messages or comments. They don't seem to turn up in my email box.

For any would be phishers or spammers out there or anyone offering me fortunes or unbeatable opportunities - I never open them - and on Instagram I'm very particular would I even let follow me. I am guarded by my intuition and the older I get the stronger it is. So if you work on an oil rig or have a high rank in the U.S military, love children, dogs and God and also Donald Trump - I will block you instantly. 

Sorry if you are by any strange chance genuine! I can't see why you would be interested in my life. My social media spaces are for me to choose. And that includes who I let into my life. I'm not collecting Likes or numbers. 

And I don't have any money - I am probably one of the poorest people in the land. My wealth is my love of life and my love of nature. I am a solitary person not a socialiser. I don't drink, take drugs, smoke, paint my nails or wear heels. An I am probably old enough to be your mum. Not that I'm offering!

So this morning on my phone - which is now being used as a hub (for broadband) in the kitchen by a north facing window so I cant't use it for Instagram but check my emails every morning I was really surprised to find a proper and incredibly lovely message from someone living in New Zealand who has really followed me and actually read my posts - saying she'd been thinking about me. I must have had a premonition - I often do - to check my blog for messages. 

(Intuition is'nt an unusual thing - most people have it daily, they just don't really talk about it for fear of seeming weird. It's not weird - it is perfectly natural and a great thing to acknowledge.)

I also started to delete most of my old messages on my blog - the ones that read as if they've been sent by a bot at least. Then I found the most beautiful message from - wait for it - four years ago. Mea cupla - mea culpa. I apologise to everyone I've missed, which is probably everyone who wrote to me and especially to the writer from Canada from so long ago whose message I read this morning and brought tears to my eyes - I've tried to reply but nothing seems to work. 

A lot of exclamation marks today. I am appalled at my own lax attitude. I never really though anyone was interested in what I have to say, I sort of do it because I enjoy it. I live on my own, I am used to being on my own - I was an only child and in my mind I also tell myself that I am writing it for my grandchildren - not that I have any yet but at least they will get a full (ish) picture of me when they come along. 

Periwinkle - The Language of Flowers -

for blossoming friendships that are still 

in their first stages.

Optional paragraph - (My daughter never knew my mother as she died 6 years before she was born so I know the importance of at least their presence. Saying that I may well be super enhancing their role - my granny lived with us from when I was eight to when I was eighteen - I held her hand as she died - though she never ever told me about her own life or actually spoke much at all. I'll talk about Jane another time. 

And I only very rarely saw my other grandma - Margaret - as she lived too far away - far away in the 1950's at least when the only way to get there was by country buses - maybe two buses a day so a bit of a challenge added to which my father put an embargo on visiting any of my mothers relations as he didn't like them. So we had to make a dash for it when he was out for the day. Very stressful. 

My mother's advice to me was only tell your father (he was a Cancerian) what he wants to know - as in probably not the truth. This was impossible for me as I was and am a stickler for the truth in all its forms.)

Today I am finding myself feeling quite sentimental and really upset for Boris Johnson. He's our Prime Minister for anyone who doesn't know across the globe. I've always had a bit of a guilty soft spot for Boris. Politics aside. It's the same soft spot that I have for Prince Charles. Monarchies aside. And God. Religions aside.