I don't know what it's called when you've got to meet someone and you can't relax or focus on anything else til it's done. Ridiculous really, and a bad night's sleep to add to that.

Part of it is R being away. It's only for the weekend but I didn't help myself with some true crime investigations and reels from accounts with names like LatinosAgainstSpookyShit, which make me laugh but are still a mistake before bedtime. (https://www.facebook.com/reel/1397123721491275) Anyway, the result was a highly coloured rather uneasy night.

R's away on a whisky tour. This was touted to him by a couple of friends a while back and he wasn't going to go, but the guy who arranged it caught Covid so R stepped into his shoes last minute. He's up on Islay now, which looks at once pretty and and faintly reminiscent of The Wicker Man.








The ferry trip sounded wonderful, all strong winds and mists that wrapped the ship, real journey to otherworld stuff. This I enjoy. Though I like whisky, distillery tours don't cut it for me, but I am definitely lamenting the delicious langoustines he described having for his dinner.

The good included my introduction to Ted Lasso plus something almost wonderful! Putting out the bins R saw a large hedgehog sitting outside our gate. I came to see it, but it had gone. Still, it's nice to know it is so close. I kind of want it to come live in our garden because I could keep it safe there. Having said that, three cats, even old and toothless, may not be great for its sense of security.

We went for a walk yesterday and the day before, down to Dalkeith Palace with the adjoining park and farm, found ourselves in the company of horses, which is always good. Kestrels flew above us and we walked and talked in all that green, trees joining us in whispered conversations. I am tired but lighter.

Today I heard about Jeremy Corbyn's new party with Zarah Sultana co-leading it. I am beginning to believe the country's entire political system is working as hard as it can to put Reform into power. Naturally the media is being just as helpful.

The Far Left will not get used to the fact that folk like money. They cannot work out whether the rich are an asset to be used or an enemy to be despised, and the result of conflating both creates a major ongoing cash exodus. Dumb.

The Far Right are plugging into an unfortunately popular narrative re immigration. I find it completely crazy. Folk were like this when I was a kid, only then it was the Irish etc, etc... Now it's back. It always comes back when they are worried about jobs and money, and extremists stoke it. And here we are.

The Centrist Right, aka for now The Tories, have b*ggered themselves with over 10 years of terrible leadership and awful government, stumble after stumble. I don't particularly count Sunak in that, but he, like Kemi Badenoch, are the wrong shades for many Conservative voters who have now defected to Reform.

The Centrist Left, i.e. Starmer's government, by dint of trying to please everyone, please no-one. They cannot put a step right with the media, and give off this air of incompetence, though Starmer's done well internationally. The Chancellor crying at Prime Ministers Question Time looked pitiful.

I think Corbyn wants to make juice out of a leftwards haemorrhage* similar to Farage's efforts re the Cons. He might even be using a little pendulum theory, hoping that when the votes swing far right, they will then swing back equally in the opposite direction.

Ugh, what a mess. I hate to quote that Yeats poem again:

The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Frankly, I want us elsewhere before the Rough Beast slouches our way. But, as R says, go where?

Maybe it will be OK. Things even out generally. Do they?

* Bizarre metaphor but too appropriate for me to change.

Yesterday a dark butterfly fluttered into our front room, bimbled around a bit above us, went out again. I made a story in my head: 30th June, date of Mark's death! It has taken him 10 years to return as a butterfly! Alas, my dates were wrong, today is the 30th. So much for my dreaming :-D

Also yesterday, Russ found a bird in our kitchen, confused or something. It flew out unscathed.

Why is everything coming in? I don't mind at all provided the beasties aren't harmed, but I've no idea why our interiors are suddenly so alluring.

Ugh, I am stupid tired. I should go back to bed.

I carried on trying to paint when I got back (God, how long is it going to take us to get over that trip? I feel for R and all that driving. Next time, plane and rental car.) One attempt was so terrible I actually had to snap the canvas in half. Of the four paintings I did on holiday, two are too embarrassing to show anyone and two please me despite their obvious issues. Painting is good for me provided I don't get frustrated at my lack. I feel so at home with writing, there is a kind of guilt at focusing on any other form of self expression, and I do love it, define myself by it almost. But those are very good reasons for working with something free from expectations/demands. So I'll put the two bearables here, in case the canvases get destroyed or I accidentally on purpose dump them in the bin.

This first was nothing more than a moment's feeling, as the wind blew through Saint Emilion, over the houses and through the streets, caught up in my head with the swifts/swallows/house martins flying.




The second was meant to be a snake among fruit and flowers. It became a sea monster because I can't Art. These have a specific meaning in my dream lexicon, based on Irish/Scottish/sea-faring folklore. To see them at all presaged storms and wild weather or by contraries becalming, but to have one see or approach your ship was considered extremely unlucky. This last may be one of the most self-evident pieces of nautical lore ever recorded.




My brother likes it, maybe because at least one of us has a touch of the sea monster about them anyway.

There now, am I awake yet? No, no, not yet.