I lost yesterday to a good book and am planning the same for today. Tomorrow I begin a long drive south – ‘begin’ because I’m breaking the journey overnight so will arrive on Sunday. And as usual I’m crinkled with anticipatory guilt at leaving the dogs.
It seems odd to have the day before a journey, to myself. Usually I’m working and have to hare about trying to pack, collect the car, deliver dogs on the day I leave. Today, in theory I could pack. But I shan’t. I find I need the adrenaline which only comes with panic, for that task. I may write letters. I shall write notes and thoughts (just not here; this, I find, is a way of warming up to the more physical writing using pen and paper).
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